


Collision Course

by Kethrielle



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age AU, F/M, Fenris/femHawke history, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 23:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kethrielle/pseuds/Kethrielle
Summary: No one in the small Ferelden village of Lothering had batted an eye when the new family settled a farmstead at the edge of town.  He may not be young anymore, and though he’d been lucky enough to marry a minor noble from far-away Kirkwall, all that had gained him was a wife with no skills at farming and an infant to provide for.  And if the neighbors snickered to themselves about the not-terribly-attractive man with his much younger wife, well, it was an old enough story that their amusement quickly passed.  And when, a few years later, a set of twins arrived to keep their parents busy and perpetually harassed, the neighbors had accepted the family sufficiently to bring by meals and willing hands to help with the older girl while her parents adjusted.No one suspected that he might be a Tevinter Magister, running from a world he could no longer live in, starting a new life in Ferelden.  Why would they?An AU history for femHawke and Fenris.





	1. Chapter 1

_20 years ago…_

The thief stood in the shadows, surveying the dock.  He was early, by habit arriving with enough extra time to observe the situation before he walked into it.  It was a habit which had saved his life in the past, but seemed to be unnecessary tonight.

Not many people would have recognized the man standing on the dock (even earlier for their appointment than the thief himself) as his employer.  That man had worn the rich robes and self-important bearing of a powerful magister. This man wore common leather breaches, a rough spun shirt, and a leather tunic over it.  He stood nervously, without a staff in sight.

Also standing on the dock were two burly sailors, both armed.  This was technically against the agreement the thief had with his employer, but it was the only variation to the agreement.  Considering that one of the sailors held a large bag containing more coin than the thief had ever thought to see in his life - let alone, earn - he thought he could let their presence pass unmentioned.  

He took another look around, then settled his prize in the crook of his elbow and walked forward, into the flickering light cast by the lanterns lighting the ship tied at the dock.  His movement drew his employer’s eye immediately, but the man remained standing where he was until the thief reached him.

“It is done?”

The thief nodded.  “And done well. It will take a very determined investigation indeed to turn up anything that does not support the story you created.  It will be believed.”

His employer nodded, his full attention on the prize clasped in the thief’s arms.  “And… the package? There wasn’t any trouble?”

“None.  I replaced it with a decoy, which should buy you a bit of additional time.”

He saw the shock on his employer’s face, the protests rising at this unexpected detail.  “Do not presume to tell me how to do my job. It is done now, and none harmed by it.”

His employer leveled a glare at him, but it lacked any heat.  He had hired this particular thief for a reason, after all. Finally, he nodded.  “Very well.”

He gestured at the sailor holding the bag of coins.  The man stepped forward, handing over the payment and awkwardly accepting the prize.  The thief was amused to note that their weights were practically identical. He watched as the sailor passed the prize over to his employer.  The bundle was settled safely in the man’s arm only after a minute examination, the thief noted with amusement. Perhaps the idea of a decoy had unsettled him.  No matter, the thief had a reputation for honesty, and wouldn’t jeopardize it. Finally, his employer nodded.

“Very well.  I appreciate your efforts in this matter, and I rely on your discretion.”  That last was said with a weight almost like a threat, but the thief only grinned.

“Indeed.  I’m off to Rivain.  Never to be seen or heard of in these lands again, so don’t worry.  Even if it starts to unravel, they’ll be hard pressed to discover anything without either of us around to provide support for their claims.”

His employer nodded.  It was what they had agreed to, after all.  He turned away, starting up the gangplank to the ship.  The sailors followed, and the ship immediately cast off.  It had been waiting only for his presence. The thief watched long enough to see him employee come to stand at the aft rail, still clutching his prize in his arms.  Before the man thought to look back at him, the thief had melted into the shadows. He had his own ship waiting, after all.

* * *

The captain of the _Merlin_ finished the immediate duties of navigating out of the harbor - always tricky in Minrathous, and more so in the gathering dusk - before going to the aft rail to stand next to his friend and only passenger this trip.  The man hadn’t moved, standing there watching the city recede as the sails caught the wind and propelled them forward.

“We’re on course for the free marches.”  He took in his passenger’s possessive hold on the bundle the thief had passed him.  “Business go well then, Magister Dan-”

The man whipped around with a glare.  

“Do not say that name.  Never mention that name again in my presence.  That man is dead, and must remain so without any hint of question.”

The captain bowed his head in apology and acceptance.  After a moment, his passenger sighed.

“I am sorry, my friend.  I have been so very afraid that something would go wrong at the last minute.  I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

The captain chuckled.  “Well, you’re safely away now.  No one can catch the _Merlin._  And I will try to remember, but I’ve known you by… that other name… for years now.  What will you have me call you, if not that?”

His passenger was silent for a long moment, then chuckled quietly.  “Do you know, I hadn’t given it any thought. I’ve been so focused on getting away, than I didn’t give much thought to the future.  I will have to pick something, though. Hmm… perhaps… Malcolm. Yes. That’s a good name. We’ll think about another as we go.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ 17 years later  _

She had waited long enough for Bethany and Carver to fall asleep in the attic they all shared before she slipped out of bed, pulling the coiled rope from its hiding place beneath her stuffed straw mattress.  She moved silently to the window and attached the loop at the end of the rope to the nail she had hammered into the window frame several years ago. She opened the window - the carefully oiled hinges moving silently - and let the rope down.  Then, Ashara Hawke looked once more at her sleeping siblings, and slipped out the window. Using the knots on the rope, she climbed down the two stories to ground level without so much as a thump against the side of the house. She left the rope dangling and moved around to the far side of the house.  

Her parents were arguing, and she wanted to know what about.  They were too careful to let their voices carry to the loft; they watched the ladder too carefully to allow eavesdropping from that direction.  The kitchen window, though, they never thought to close in mild weather. She settled under it and had an excellent listening post.

“I can’t believe you’re considering this, Malcolm!  Sending our daughter away? We’ve fought so hard to keep Bethany with us, how can we send Ashara away?”

“You know it isn’t the same thing, Leandra.  We protect Bethany from the life of a prisoner.  We would be able to call Ashara back to us any time we wanted.”

“Oh, sure.  If she isn't dead!  Or a hostage! Or worse - seduced by exotic realms and people - unwilling to return!”

“Hmph.  As if any daughter of Ferelden would want to live in that tropical hellhole.  No, only those with power have any reason to stay in the Imperium, and only mages hold any power.  She won’t want to go, and she won’t want to remain, but what would you have me do? It is the safest option I can think of.”

“So we’ll leave!  We can move. It took seventeen years for anyone to find us, why not leave and win ourselves another seventeen years?”

“How many balls do you think I can juggle at once, Leandra?”  Her father sounded angry now. “I keep myself hidden, I keep Bethany hidden, and teach her how to use her powers safely.  That's besides working the land to provide for our family. I can’t do all that and start over somewhere… we would lose all the protection of being normal and established that we have here.  No, Leandra. This is the best way, and my decision is made.”

There was a sound of muffled crying and her mother’s quick footsteps retreating from the kitchen.  After a moment, there was a slam, and the sound of crockery shattering. Ashara risked a glance over the window sill, and saw her father holding the broken pieces of the plate Beth had made for their mother when she was seven.  It usually rested on a shelf near the kitchen door, but the slamming of that door had made it fall to the floor. Ashara’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of the broken plate, but when she bit back a cry, her father looked towards the window and saw her.

“Ashara.  What are you doing out there?”

“Umm… visiting the privy?”

Malcolm Hawke arched an eyebrow skeptically.  “Without coming down the ladder from the loft?”

She sighed.  “I wanted to know what you and Mother were arguing about.”

“And do you?”

“Not… quite.  You’re sending me somewhere?  Why?”

“Come inside, Ashara, and I’ll tell you.”  She nodded and started back toward the attic window when his chuckle stopped her.  “You may as well use the door, you know.”

“Oh.  Right.”

She walked sheepishly through the kitchen door, and sat at the table when her father pointed at the chair.  He looked at the broken plate in his hands for another moment, as if hoping to find answers or strength there, then sighed and set it on the table.  

“Well.  You know our family history - your mother married a dirt poor commoner against her noble parents’ wishes, and moved with him to Ferelden to become a farmer.  That is the story as everyone - from your grandparents to the villagers here - knows it. But it isn’t the full story.

“She did marry against her parents’ wishes, and I was dirt poor at the time.  We did move to Ferelden to farm. But before I met your mother, I was fleeing a different life.  I had a family, once, and a home, and a place, and if anyone from that life knew that I had married the daughter of minor Kirkwall nobility, they would have considered that  _ I _ was the one marrying beneath my level.”  

Ashara stared at him, her eyes wide with shock, questions spilling from her without conscious thought.  “Where? Where did you live before? Why did you leave? What family?”

Malcolm sighed.  “There were… several reasons why I left.  Suffice it to say that I could not survive in that life any longer.  Though I sacrificed nearly everything I had in order to leave that life behind, I did it because there were some sacrifices I was unwilling to make.

“You know I am a mage.  Here, I am an apostate, hunted by the chantry, because I do not live in a circle.  Where I am from, mages hold power, and no one has ever bowed to a templar.” At her blank expression, he added, “Tevinter, Ashara.  I am from the Tevinter Imperium. I was a magister there, and a member of the Archon’s court. I had a wife, a son, an estate. I thought I was happy for many years.  When I… when it became apparent that I could no longer live that life, I arranged my escape. I made it look as if I had been killed by a rival - easily believable, in the Imperium - and left.  I didn’t take any more money than what I needed to survive and effect my escape - I left everything to my son, an adult then, and more than ready to take my place in the court. I thought, for seventeen years, that I had made a clean break.  

“But now, an assassin has found us, and made an attempt on my life.  I dealt with it, but I believe more will come. And not only for me, you are in danger too.”

Ashara gasped.  “Me? Why me? Are Beth and Carver in danger as well?”

“No, they are safe.  It is just me, and perhaps you.”

“Why, though?”

Malcolm sighed.  “It has to do with inheritance, you see.  The twins wouldn’t be seen as... close enough to be a risk. But, as you heard me tell your mother,” and here, he cast her wryly amused glance, making her blush, “I cannot protect the two of us from assassins, in addition to protecting your sister and myself from the mage hunters.”

Malcolm was staring at his hands; despite his confidence when speaking to his wife, he wasn’t at all sure this was the best path.  It was the only plan he could come up with, though, and it would have a much higher chance of succeeding if he had Ashara’s cooperation.  Sighing, he looked up at his first born daughter, and told her everything he planned, and why.

Ashara was nodding when he finished.  Unlike her mother, she was pragmatic, and saw the logic in her father’s plan.  She always thought things through first, calculated and planned, and only dealt with her emotions afterward.  While he was sure that some of the revelations of this night wouldn’t sit well with her for very long, for the present she was focused on what needed to be done.

“You’ll make the arrangements for my trip, then?  The sooner I go, the better, I think. For all of us.”  

He agreed, and Ashara stood and walked toward the loft.  She had one hand on the ladder before she turned back.

“You never told me his name.  This half brother I’m about to go meet.”

Malcolm braced himself before speaking the name which hadn’t crossed his lips in seventeen years.

“Danarius.  My son’s name - my family name - is Danarius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t pin down a concrete timeline of pre- DA:II events, so I sort of fudged it a bit for this story. Roughly, Malcolm was twenty when Danarius was born, and fifty when he left Tevinter and met Leandra, who was twenty-something. Ashara is seventeen now, and Malcolm is sixty-seven, making Danarius forty-seven (and the twins are about fifteen). We are three years before the destruction of Lothering, and the beginning of DA:II. I couldn’t find a last (or different first) name for Danarius, so for the purposes of this story, it’s his family name, since it is used with his title.


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris stood silently in the alcove behind the desk in his master’s study.  Danarius spent a large portion of his time here, hunched over his desk as he was now.  It was a large room on the second floor of the mansion. One wall had a bank of windows, interrupted only by a rarely used fireplace.  There were two doors: one for the master and his guests, and one for the slaves who came in only at set times to clean. There were two walls full of books, as well as several shelves.  

From his place behind his master, Fenris could see all  these features, and his eyes moved constantly between them.  He catalogued them absently in his mind with each sweep of the room.   _ Main door: closed.  Slave’s door: closed.  Windows: open to the air, but no movement to be seen.  Fireplace: cold and empty. Shelves of book: undisturbed.   _ As soon as he finished one visual check on all points, he started over from the beginning.  Over and over, never a pause, never a rest, his body motionless but always ready for action with no advance warning.  He was a bodyguard, and he would not fail in his duty if called upon.

Fenris had just completed a visual check of the room, about to start again when a noise from the desk drew his attention to his master’s back.  Only briefly, though, before he continued his protective survey. If the his master needed Fenris, he would tell him. If not, his job was not to be distracted by anything from the single most important reason for his existence.  Protect Master Danarius.

Danarius was cursing under his breath, now, a piece of paper crumpled in his grasp.  With each word, he seemed to be working himself further into a rage, his voice rising until he was shouting.  Fenris stood silent, expression blank as his eyes maintained his steady sweep of the room.  _ Main door: closed.  Slave’s door: closed… _ but he had to fight to keep from flinching at the anger in his master’s voice.  Only the knowledge that he was currently on guard kept him from trembling with fear before that rage.  Fenris wrenched his attention back to his task.  _ Windows… _

Before he could get through his check of the windows, two things happened nearly simultaneously.  Danarius, no longer satisfied with yelling curses at an empty room, picked up the ink jar from his desk, and hurled it across the room, where it exploded against the doorjamb just as the door opened.  That was against the rules of the manor - no one ever entered any room where Danarius was without knocking.

Fenris was moving before the thought had fully formed.  Sword drawn, he put himself in front of Danarius’ desk, eyes fixed on whatever was about to come through the door.  Even Danarius was stunned into momentary silence, so that when Hadriana’s pale face peered around the corner of the door, eyes glancing nervously at the dent and splash of ink (which was precisely at the level of her face), her squeek of surprise at finding Fenris armed and glowering dangerously seemed very loud.

Her eyes immediately narrowed into her usual expression of disdain for him, a blush spreading across her cheeks at being caught in such a childish reaction.  

“What are you thinking, slave?  I am not a threat to Magister Danarius.  Put that ridiculous sword away.”

Fenris remained motionless.  Only his master’s command would convince him to relax his guard.  

Danarius’ dry chuckle came from behind him.  “Indeed, Fenris, you may relax. She is no threat - she hasn’t the brains for it.”  At Hadriana’s outraged gasp, he added coldly, “You know better than to enter without knocking.”

Fenris put his sword away and stepped back to his position in the alcove behind his master’s desk.  He took up his silent sweep again, making sure his eyes never crossed Hadriana. Still, he knew that she was glowering at him, embarrassed by her own fear and the magister’s reprimand.  Her anger promised retribution, and he could only hope that his master would distract her from her plans.

“I did knock, Magister.  I suppose you could not hear me.”  She waited, as if expecting some agreement or apology.  None was forthcoming, so she bottled her annoyance and added,  “You sent for me?”

“Yes.  I have received a most annoying letter.”  Danarius gestured at the crumpled paper which lay on the floor, dropped when he hurled the ink pot.  “From my father.”

Hadriana’s jaw dropped; and with it, the temperature in the room, as the magister’s expression grew even colder.  Danarius despised such open reactions. She quickly schooled her expression and offered hesitantly, “I thought your father was dead, Magister?”

“Indeed.  That was what he wanted everyone to think.  Especially myself.” Briefly, his voice went sinister.  “I have spent considerable resources trying to ensure the truth of that belief.”  Danarius sighed with frustration and disgust. “But it turns out he simply decided he could no longer live here in Tevinter, and ran off like a petulant child.

“He has a new family, a new life, as some grubby dirt farmer in Ferelden, of all places.  I would have been happy to never know anything about it, of course, except now it seems that he has caught an assassin, and feels his life is in danger, as well as the life of his eldest child.  He writes most eloquently of trusting only me - in all of the Imperium - to protect his ‘precious girl.’” Danarius sniffed, brushing at his fingers as if to dislodge something distasteful. “And so he is sending her here, where he is sure I will protect her with my ‘considerable powers and political influence,’ while he tries to find the source of this assassination attempt.”

Hadriana’s jaw dropped again, and this time Danarius didn’t bother to attempt correction.  He simply nodded at her expression before continuing. 

“She will be here in a matter of days.  She is to be extended every courtesy, of course - every courtesy a barbarian will notice, at least - and it should go without saying that her safety is to be the primary concern of everyone in this manor, second only to my own.  My  _ father _ ” he spat the word, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, “is taking no chances; he has made sure that everyone will know she is sent to my home and my protection.”

Glancing surreptitiously at his face, Hadriana dared a question.  “What of our work, Magister? Will she interfere?”

Danarius snorted.  “Hardly. She hasn’t any magic at all.  Just a common Ferelden peasant, not raised to any court or political sense.  My dear father wanted a simple life when he left here, and has thus made sure his daughter has no useful skills.  I would imagine she knows little beyond farming, and I doubt she has any manners worth mentioning. We will make sure she isn’t able to get too comfortable here, and she will be easily kept out of the way.  I won’t have her provoked into a dangerous anger, so you are to be polite to her, Hadriana, and make sure the slaves behave themselves as well.”

A new blush stained Hadriana’s cheeks at this demeaning order.  She was his apprentice after all, and deserved better than to be treated as a bare step above the staff.  She hid her sneer, though, eyes sweeping the room in search of a distraction. Her gaze landed on Fenris, and she licked her lips.

“I will see that everyone understands the situation, Magister.”

Danarius nodded, his anger already cooled as he sat down behind his desk again.  The only sign of his lingering anger was when the crumpled piece of paper burst into flames and burned down to ashes in a few seconds.  He waved dismissal at Hadriana, and she turned to leave.

She stopped at the door, though, and turned back, as if a thought had just occurred to her.  

“Magister, may I have leave to save you the trouble of disciplining your slave tonight?  I will undertake to impress on him how he failed you today.”

When Danarius just looked at her, she continued, “After all, he should have heard my knock, even if you were speaking.  What if I was an assassin?” 

It was a ridiculous argument, and they both knew it.  If anyone Fenris didn’t recognize had walked through that door, he had already been alert and positioned to stop them.  She simply wanted to save face, to punish him for seeing her disgrace at Danarius’ hands. Still, he considered, anything that kept her from focusing too closely on his business would be very useful.  Danarius nodded. “I’ll send him to you for punishment when I no longer have need of him tonight.”

Casting a cruel smile at him that Fenris couldn’t avoid seeing, she left.  The door closed quietly behind her.

Wrenching his thoughts away from what would happen when Danarius dismissed him for the night, Fenris returned to his watchful routine.   _ Main door: closed.  Slave’s door: closed…. _   
  


* * *

Three days later, Fenris stood behind Danarius in the foyer of the mansion, nerves and muscles strained tight with anticipation.  The setting sun sent its rays through the stained glass windows surrounding the foyer, casting colored shadows that shifted and hinted at danger.  Unknown people coming to the mansion. Unknown numbers, unknown motives. _Unknown, unknown…_ His fingers flexed in his gauntlets.  Too many unknowns, too many variables, too many directions danger might come from.

His eyes moved restlessly around the foyer.  He saw Hadriana coming down the main staircase, and dismissed her as not a current threat.  She slid up behind him, however, running her finger along his ear and making him jump, making him ache with remembered torments.  Even after three days.

Danarius’ dry voice called her, and she slid away from Fenris to stand beside the Magister as a carriage pulled up to the door.  The house slaves opened the foyer doors, as one of the coachmen jumped down to open the carriage door and hand someone out. Fenris stared, even his well-trained professionalism stalled by this sight.

The person who climbed out of the carriage did so with a small hop.  She was dressed in plain leather trousers, a plain, patched vest, and a homespun shirt.  Fenris could practically hear Danarius and Hadriana snickering. Their guest wore her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head, as if she couldn’t be bothered to take the time to style it.  She had an honest smile and a wide eyed expression of amazement. 

She mounted the stairs with a spring in her step, and stopped in front of Danarius.  She planted her hands on her hips, and looked him up and down in open appraisal. Fenris thought he could hear his master’s teeth grinding at this liberty, but before Danarius could do anything to put her in her place, the newcomer was speaking.

“Well!  I guess you’re my half brother then, eh?  You have our father’s eyes.” She stuck out her hand.  “I’m Ashara.”

Danarius glanced at her hand, and shook it briefly with barely concealed disgust.  “Yes, I am Magister Danarius.” 

The girl rolled her eyes.  “I got that. What do you go by, then?  Dan? Rius?”

Danarius’ eyes narrowed, and she seemed to wilt slightly where she stood.  “You may call me Magister Danarius. As a… “ he hesitated, but only barely, “... daughter of this house, you should expect to be referred to as ‘milady’ by anyone who is not family.  We use more formal manners here than you might be used to, Ashara, but it is best you start adapting.” He waited until she nodded, now looking fully cowed, before continuing in a more complacent tone.

A flurry of questions followed, each leaving the newcomer looking more unsettled.  By the time Danarius had left her to Hadriana’s care and retired to his study, she looked completely lost.  

Fenris took up his accustomed place behind his master’s desk, and allowed himself to relax infinitesimally at this return to routine.  As his eyes settled into their well worn path around the room, he could hear his master chuckling to himself. 


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris knew his master had been planning on avoiding his unwanted guest as much as possible, and for several days he was successful.  

Two days after her arrival, Fenris attended Danarius to the greenhouse in the afternoon.  He didn’t care for this greenhouse, where Danarius grew the herbs and plants that he needed as spell components.  The whole thing had a hum of magic about it which set Fenris’ lyrium brands to vibrating uncomfortably. Besides that, he hated the sweet smell of the more poisonous plants, and the few which could exert a mild sort of persuasion against the unwarey tugged at his attention when he needed his wits about him.  

Danarius tended these plants himself, though, or rarely allowed Hadriana to do so, which meant Fenris had to tolerate it every few days.  They had barely gotten through the door, when he heard Danarius gasp.

“Ashara!  Get away from that!”

Fenris followed his master’s gaze, and saw his guest bent cheerfully over toward a large deep purple blossom, about to smell it.  She straightened at Danarius’ shout, and turned toward them. She left the flower without another thought, coming down the walkway to link her arm through her brother’s.

“Danarius, your plant house is wonderful!  I had no idea you had such wonderful flowers here.  They’re so lovely. Why do we never see them in the house?  They are ever so much more exciting than the roses on the dining room table.”  

She reached out, about to brush her fingers along the bright red veining on a green leaf.  Fenris caught her hand just above the wrist to stop her. Her eyes widened and she looked at him curiously, a hint of humor dancing in her eyes.  Fenris dropped her arm as if it burned him. Lowering his head so his hair fell over his face, he stepped back to his position behind his master.

Danarius’ smooth voice filled the silence, drawing Ashara’s attention back to him.  “These flowers are not for decoration, Ashara. They are… medicinal, and some are dangerous when not used properly.  I must ask you to stay out of this building until you have a more thorough knowledge of our plants. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She looked around, a slightly nervous expression on her face as if she were realizing that she might have touched something dangerous.  “Of course, brother. I was excited to see the new plants is all. I miss growing things, and tending my garden. I only wanted to help.”  She left quietly, her own head bowed so they couldn’t see her expression.

 

* * *

 

On the morning of the third day, Fenris preceded his master into the study, and stopped short.

His master’s sister was there, her back to the door, humming idly while she scanned the book shelves.  When Fenris didn’t draw his weapon and didn’t move, Danarius shoved him impatiently out of the way, pushing his way around his bodyguard only to freeze in turn when he spotted Ashara.

“What are you doing in here?”  Danarius barked at her, walking to his desk and leaving Fenris to  head gratefully to his accustomed place.

The girl jumped and spun around, her face lighting with a smile when she saw Danarius.  “Ah, brother! I am pleased to see you this evening. I was looking for your library, and one of the servants directed me here.  I have become rather bored in my rooms, and wanted something to read. It is…” she glanced around the room in disappointment, “smaller than I had expected for a man of your stature.”

Danarius sat down, barely masking his annoyance at her confusing mix of trade tongue and Tevene.  He sighed with exaggerated patience, and was pleased at her blush. “This morning, not evening. Slaves, not servants.  Status, not stature. This is my private study, not the library, which is on the third floor; this is the second floor.”

She was smiling again when he finished, and glanced up at the ceiling, as if she could see the library from where she stood.  “Ah! The  _ third _ floor!  Such a large cottage you have, brother.  I am sorry to have intruded on your private room.  Does the library hold more interesting books than these?  I have never seen so many dry tomes of magic in one place before!”

Danarius turned his attention to the book resting on the top of his desk, and declined to correct her.  “Yes, many more interesting books. I’m sure you can find something you’ll like there. Now, if you’ll excuse me…?”

She grinned, and left with a spring in her step.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, the entire estate was in an uproar.  Ashara was missing. 

She had been served breakfast in her room, by the slave assigned to her, and not seen again since then.  Danarius and Hadriana had worked through lunch, and no one else seemed to notice that the master’s sister hadn't been seen.  It wasn’t until she failed to arrive for the evening meal that her absence was discovered.

Danarius roused the estate, calling in the gate guards to ensure that she hadn’t left - willingly or otherwise - by the main gate.  She hadn’t been seen outside the manor at all, it turned out, but since none of the slaves who worked the grounds had seen her before this wasn’t as reassuring as it might otherwise have been.  

For two hours, every slave in the manor - in addition to Hadriana and Danarius - searched the manor.  Finally, she was found in the attic of the west wing, looking through a trunk holding odds and ends that no one cared about any longer.  She was dusty, and covered in cobwebs, when the slave who had found her led her into the dining room. Danarius and Hadriana were seated there and he gestured her into a chair as their reheated food was placed before them.

“Where have you been?!?  Do you know the disruption you caused?”  Danarius was frowning, Hadriana was looking smug.  Fenris stood behind his master’s chair, his face set and blank.  He couldn’t help looking at his master’s guest, though, short darting glances when he thought he wouldn’t be caught.  He miscalculated, though, and her eyes briefly crossed his; he thought he saw amusement in them. When he dared glance at her again, though, her expression held nothing but contrition.

“I am sorry, brother.  I was trying to find my way back to the large study, and became lost.  I figured if I just kept walking, I would found eventually. This is a very large cottage, though!  I think I just kept getting more lost.”   


Danarius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “Library, not large study. You hoped to  _ be _ found.  House, or mansion, not cottage.”  He looked up, to find Ashara nodding eagerly at his corrections.  “And look, if you get lost again, just stay where you are until someone finds you.  It will make it much easier.”

Ashara’s face brightened as if this were the most brilliant thing she had ever heard, and she nodded.  She didn’t seem to hear Hadriana’s snickering, but her eyes caught Fenris’ and she grinned straight at him.

 

* * *

 

More than a week had passed since Ashara’s arrival, when Hadriana burst into his master’s study again, without knocking.  She was shouting before she opened the door, however, so Fenris stayed where he was. Danarius looked up, and couldn’t quite keep the annoyance off his face when his apprentice barged in with one hand wrapped around Ahsara’s wrist, dragging his guest along in her wake.

“Magister!  This girl was snooping in my private workroom!  And she  _ broke _ my reduction apparatus!” 

Fenris winced.  He knew how long Hadriana had been working on his master’s lyrium reduction.  Danarius had been waiting eagerly for the results of the months-long experiment, hoping it would further the research that he had been working on secretly for most of a year.  Danarius’ face darkened and he turned his glare on Ashara. She winced under the look, and Fenris braced himself for the unpleasantness that was sure to follow.

“I have apologied, but it was an accident!”

Danarius scowled, and didn’t bother to correct her grammar.  “How do you accidentally break something that doesn’t belong to you in a locked room!  I told you to never enter a locked room!”

She scowled.  “The door was not locked when I opened it.  I was looking for the music room, and became lost.   _ You told me _ that when I became lost, I should wait to be found, instead of wandering.  So I did. I was looking for a book to read while I waited.” She held her hands in front of her, palms up, as if to demonstrate how she had been cradling a book.  “Then she came in and shrieked like a wild woman. I was startled.” Here, Ashara jerked her hands up as if surprised. It was simple to picture the imaginary book soaring through the air.  “Then I heard a crash, and she grabbed me and dragged me in here. It isn’t very kind, and I don’t see why she should be upset by a few little glass tubes breaking. You said I could go in any unlocked room,  _ and _ you said to stay where I was if I got lost.”

Danarius didn’t say a word.  He walked over to the wall and jerked on the bell pull, then waited, silent and glowering until a slave appeared at the door.  “Please show my guest to her own rooms. Wait with her there until I arrive.” The slave bowed, and waited hesitantly by the door.  

Ashara scowled at magister and apprentice alike, but her anger qualed in the face of Danarius’ barely concealed rage.  Finally she nodded sharply and followed the slave away. The door clicked quietly closed behind them, and Fenris eased a bit further back into the alcove.  The explosion wasn’t long in coming.

“You left the door to your workroom unlocked?!?  Of all the stupid, careless…” he spluttered, seeming at a loss for words.  Hadriana’s eyes were wide as understanding slowly dawned on her that she was the one in trouble, not the girl she’d dragged in here in such a state of combined rage and triumphant.

Unwisely, she argued.  “I never leave that door unlocked!”  

Danarius laughed, a sound devoid of humor.  “So how did she get in, then? You must have been careless.  Careless and stupid. What of the lyrium reduction?”

Hadriana winced.  “It is ruined. The book broke the collection beaker.  The reduction spilled all over the table.” 

“So you not only left our work unsecured, your careless actions have ruined months of effort!  Do you know what those months will cost us? I have the spell ready, all it waited on was the lyrium.  Stupid, careless. You clearly do not understand how important this is, but you will. You will clean up your mess, start the reduction again, and then you will await me in my personal workroom.”

Hadriana went pale, and even Fenris caught his breath.  Danarius saved his most vicious punishments for his workroom, where he could give free reign to his cruelty in both physical and magical forms.  Fenris eased another half step backwards, and fixed his eyes resolutely on the ceiling, hoping to remain unnoticed lest Hadriana find an excuse to drag him into this.  

She didn’t, though, simply nodded shakily, and turned to leave.  

  
  
  


Danarius worked in silence for the rest of the morning, reading and making notes feverishly.  Finally, he slammed his book closed and shook his head.

“There’s no help for it.  It has to be reduced slowly to have the proper effect.  I can’t cut corners. We’ll simply have to wait until the new preparation is ready.  Idiots, both of them.”

Fenris remained silent, until Danarius turned to him.  “Well, little wolf. It looks like you have an unexpected reprieve.  I had meant to use that lyrium for a new set of tattoos for you, ones that should better serve my purposes.  There’s nothing for it now but to wait.” 

Fenris felt a sudden punch of fear in his gut at these words.  His master was going to repeat the lyrium ritual? He kept his face carefully blank, however, and after a moment of watching him closely, Danarius shrugged. 

“Let’s go see if we can find out why that idiot peasant keeps wandering around and getting herself lost.  The manor isn’t  _ that _ large.”

  
  
  


A short conversation later, and Fenris found himself assigned to accompany Ashara on a daily walk around the grounds.  Each morning, for as long as she wanted to stroll, he would be responsible for her safety. He hid his dismay behind a bland expression and a polite half bow.  

Danarius had already swept out the door and Fenris turned to follow him when his gaze caught on Ashara’s again.  She must being trying to catch his eyes, Fenris realized, he was careful enough that it couldn’t happen so frequently without intent.  She gave him a bright smile and spoke quietly enough that only he would hear her.

“See you tomorrow morning, Fenris.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning at dawn, Fenris rose and dressed, then stood uncertainly in his room.  He didn’t know when he was expected to escort Ashara around the grounds, or where he was to meet her.  With anyone else, he could simply await a summons, but he wasn’t sure this newcomer would do the reasonable thing instead of simply setting off on her own when he wasn’t immediately available.  Finally, Fenris decided to go get breakfast and ask the slave who attended her when she usually woke up.

When he reached the kitchen, he found a most surprising tableau.  Not only was Ashara awake, she was in the kitchen, sitting comfortably on a counter while she spoke with Danarius’ cook, Valerran.  She held an apple in one hand and a long slender knife in the other, which she used to peel the apple. The cook was watching her in consternation, confused by her cheerful chatter and nervous about the knife flashing in her hand - indeed, Valerran was watching that knife a good deal more closely than Ashara was, and Fenris wondered briefly if he was more concerned that she would slip and cut him, or herself, in her inattention.

When Ashara looked up and spotted Fenris, she smiled brightly.

“Good morning, Fenris!  Have you had breakfast? Are you ready to go for our walk?”

Fenris gave her a short bow.  “I am ready whenever you are, mistress.”

Ashara made a face.  “Oh, no, certainly not mistress.  Ashara would be best, but milady if you must.  And you didn’t tell me if you’d have breakfast yet.”

Fenris bowed again.  “I have not yet eaten, milady, but it is of no import if you are ready to go.”

Ashara waved a hand - the one holding the knife, which made Valerran flinch away from her.  “Oh, I’m not in a hurry. Get your breakfast, then we’ll go.”

Fenris bowed a third time, but her attention had dropped - finally! - to the knife in her hand as she finished peeling her apple.  He went and got his simple breakfast, bringing it to the table to eat. He sat on the bench facing her; though having his back to the doorway made him nervous, he considered this unpredictable guest to be the bigger threat, and positioned himself so he could watch her.

Her laughter caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see that she was holding the apple peel in one hand, the narrow ribbon spiralling nearly to the floor in a single long piece.  Fenris blinked in surprise at this unexpected show of dexterity, but quickly lowered his gaze when she looked at him. His eyes caught on her feet, and widened.

She was wearing a proper dress, one of several that his master had provided for her, and that was all Fenris had noticed at first.  Now, though, he could see that she was clearly wearing breeches beneath the skirt, and her swinging feet were encased in sturdy boots.  Fenris shrank in his seat and ate more quickly, hoping they could get this morning stroll over with before Danarius saw what she was wearing.  

When he looked up from his empty bowl, Ashara had turned her attention to the apple in her hand, stabbing it ineffectually with the knife.  She was, for once, silent. When Fenris rose to his feet, the sound brought her eyes to him.

“Ready?”  She sounded far more cheerful than a simple walk should warrant, but Fenris simply nodded.  With a grin, Ashara flipped the knife into the air; before any of them could react, she caught it deftly by the blade and extended the handle back to Valerran.  “Thank you for letting me borrow this.” The cook nodded silently, his eyes wide as he tried to surreptitiously check her fingers for cuts. There didn’t seem to be any.

Still holding her apple, Ashara walked confidently to the door leading into the kitchen garden and out.  Fenris had expected her to use the main door to the mansion, or ask for guidance, and had to hurry to catch up with her.  He fell into step behind her easily enough, his eyes moving around the grounds to watch for threats.

Ashara walked quickly, the boots and breeches allowing her a longer stride than Fenris was used to following, and he had to lengthen his own steps to keep up.  When she reached the edge of kitchen garden, she headed without pause into the rough meadowland surrounding the manor. Fenris slowed down, and cleared his throat, which made her turn.  She didn’t stop walking, simply moving backwards over the uneven ground. She raised an eyebrow at him and Fenris gestured awkwardly to the side.

“The formal gardens are this way, milady.”  He had to speed up again to catch up with her.

Ashara popped a piece of apple into her mouth, chewing quickly before she answered.  “Yep, I know. Those are boring, though, I want to go this way.” Fenris frowned, but followed without argument.

Ashara kept up a steady stream of chatter while they walked, walking backwards so often in order to face Fenris that he finally gave in and walked next to her, simply to save her from falling.  She set a rapid pace over the rough ground, and though Fenris was sure she was going to trip or twist an ankle or something of the sort, nothing dire happened. Eventually, she noticed him struggling to keep up, and moderated her pace to match his.  She might as well have been walking on the floor in the manor ballroom for all the trouble she seemed to be having.

Fenris didn’t have a lot of attention to spare for this feat, however.  She talked constantly, and wasn’t content simply to have a silent listener for her words.  Instead, she quizzed him at random intervals about what she was saying, forcing him to pay attention.  She was describing her journey from Ferelden, which she had clearly enjoyed. It was also clear that she missed her homeland, despite how entertaining she had found her sea voyage; she told him about both the voyage and Ferelden in far more detail than he could bring himself to find interesting.

When she finally turned back, Fenris was dismayed by the distance they had covered.  He wasn’t used to traveling far by foot, attending Danarius as he did kept him mostly indoors.  She glanced over at him, and then asked if they could sit for a moment and take a break before starting back.  Fenris nodded, and followed her to a patch of soft green meadow grass, settling only after she had.  He closed his eyes, and turned his face toward the sun, letting his mind drift for just a moment.

“Would you like a piece of apple?”  

Fenris jerked his attention back to her, eyes wide and startled.  He met her gaze, shock making him careless. For a moment, he saw his master leaning over him, taunting him with a piece of fruit as a reward for… Fenris blinked, and the memory faded.  He was sitting in the bright morning sunshine in a meadow, so far away from the manor that he couldn’t see it as he sat here. His master was nowhere in sight, and though the words had been the same the tone was completely different.  

Ashara had gone completely still and silent as the memory gripped him; when she saw his eyes focus on her again, she smiled gently.  “I don’t mind sharing, and you have been kind enough to traipse all the way out here early in the morning.”

Her gentle words and genuine smile banished the last chill of the memory, but didn’t make her offer any more possible to accept.  He shook his head, words stuck behind the lump in his throat, hoping that she wouldn’t know how rude it was for a slave not to answer directly.  She didn’t seem to, popping the bite of apple into her mouth with a shrug. When she was finished chewing, she climbed to her feet and stretched.

“Ready to start back, then?”  

She extended her hand to Fenris, ready to haul him to his feet, surprise showing clearly on her face when he flinched away from her.  He tried to cover the movement by climbing to his feet, turning to face her when he was a safe distance away.

Ashara slowly withdrew her hand, twining her fingers together at her waist.  She was silent all the way back to the manor, her hands never leaving their position clasped at her waist.  When they reached the edge of the kitchen garden, she stopped, and turned to face him. She smiled brightly, he noticed with relief.  Perhaps she wasn’t angry at him then.

“Thank you very much for accompanying me, Fenris.  Same tomorrow?” He nodded curtly.

Her smile changed slightly as she studied him for a moment without speaking, but not turning to go back into the house, either.  Finally, she reached into a pouch hanging from her waist, and fished out… the apple? He thought she’d eaten that. With a flick of one eyebrow, she set the apple carefully on the fence post before turning in to the kitchen garden and quickly disappearing into the house.

Fenris watched her, wondering at the significant look which had accompanied such a random action, then looked at the apple.  

The simple piece of fruit had been carved into a work of art, the outside a delicate lattice work of shapes, the pieces she’d been eating providing the open places.  The exterior supported by the core, the interior had been eaten while they walked. Fenris picked the delicate thing up, and turned it in his hands, trying to work out the puzzle.

Looking at the precise shapes, he remembered her sitting in the kitchen, stabbing the peeled apple over and over with the long thin blade of Valleran’s kitchen knife.  It had seemed random and ineffectual at the time, but had actually produced something amazing.

As he turned the apple in his hands, the delicate lattice of thin flesh left crumbled at his touch, destroying her work.  Fenris glanced at the kitchen door, his mind spinning with new thoughts and a new puzzle for the first time since he had learned his duties after waking up from the lyrium ritual.  He dropped the core on the mulch pile, brushing the broken and indistinguishable pieces of apple art off his hands before going inside to report to his master.

 

* * *

 

For seven days, Danarius split his attention between his research and Hadraiana’s punishment, leaving him no time to pay attention to his bodyguard or his unwanted guest.  Each day, Fenris woke early, met Ashara in the kitchen to eat a simple breakfast, then walked with her for most of the morning.

They covered the entire meadow, day by day; though Ashara never commented on their pace, Fenris knew she was moderating her usual impatient speed to something he could maintain over the uneven ground for the length of their walks.  He kept pushing, and found that his body - well toned and well trained for fighting - responded with increasing endurance.

He was pleased to be adapting to the exercise; he was not able to adapt to the steady stream of chatter in the same way.  She told him - over and again - of her trip from Ferelden. She told him of the ship she had traveled on, the ports they had stopped at, and what she had seen at each.  She told him, much to his frustration, every single thing she had purchased in each port, describing these gifts for her family in minute detail. Silks for her sister, perfume for her mother.  Weapons and armor for her brother, herbs and spell components for her mage father. She took an annoying interest in the details of cost for these items, and the pleasure or frustration she had felt when finding similar items with different prices further along their route.

Her unending chatter was frequently interrupted when she asked him about something she’d mentioned, and Fenris found himself struggling to commit her words to memory; if he couldn’t recall something she asked him about, she tended to repeat far more than the answer for him.

At the end of the week, Danarius finally looked at Fenris when he returned from one of these walks, instead of simply waving him silently to his place in the study, or leaving him waiting outside the workroom.  His piercing look froze Fenris in place in front of his master’s desk. After a breath, Fenris went to his knees, head bowed, waiting for his master to speak.

“So, Little Wolf, how do you find my dear guest?  Do you enjoy your time with her?”

Fenris kept his eyes lowered, wondering how to answer.  “She is most enthusiastic about walking, Master.”

The answer amused Danarius, he laughed.  “I have no doubt she is, pet. Whatever does she find to keep her attention while taking such long walks?”

Fenris wasn’t sure what sort of answer his master was looking for with this question.  After a pause, he replied, “She says she is lonely, Master. She misses her home and family.  She is used to being outside, and enjoys it.”

“Well, it certainly has cut down on her idiot ramblings inside.  I shouldn’t be surprised that she talks to you, she has no concept of how to treat slaves.”  His voice sharpened, “What does she speak of?”

“Of her home, Master, and her journey here.  She traveled on a ship, and seems to have enjoyed it.  She went shopping when they were in port, and bought gifts for her family.”

“And this is all?  She doesn’t speak of her father, or myself?  Of leaving here? She has confessed no secrets to you?”

Fenris shrugged helplessly.  “She mentions her father as someone she cares for and misses, nothing more.  She has never mentioned him in any sense other than of seeing him when she returns home.  She has told me nothing more than these things. She says them over and over, as if they are the most exciting things she can think of to speak about.”

Danarius snorted.  “They probably are.  Dirty Ferelden peasants.  Very well, Little Wolf. You have learned nothing else?”

Fenris considered.  She spoke constantly to him while they walked, but it only now occurred to him that she hadn't made a single mistake of grammar the entire time.  She guided them around the manor grounds without a single misstep; amazing in someone who consistently became lost within the building, and hadn't set foot outside of it until she walked with him.  He had learned more, too, though simply by observation.  He had learned that she was kind; that she treated all of them the same, from Danarius to the lowliest slaves.  She read body language as if it spoke as loudly as words; he thought of the way she grinned at Valerran and touched his arm when she spoke to him, the way she teased and made faces at the slave assigned to help her, to make her smile; the way she kept her hands folded at her waist whenever she walked within reach of Fenris, never allowing the slightest possibility that she would touch him unexpectedly.  He thought of how she always - _always_ \- made sure he was focused on her before speaking.  She was agile, and graceful, and her fingers created fleetingly beautiful works of art that crumbled away once they had been enjoyed by the one she gave them to, nothing left to lose or steal, just the memory.

Fenris thought of all these things, but didn’t mention them to Danarius.  His master dealt in facts, not emotions, he reminded himself.

“Nothing else, Master.  She is open and honest, and I have never caught a lie in her speech.”

Danarius snorted as if this was what he had expected, and motioned Fenris into position behind his desk.  Fenris rose and went where he was bid; catching sight of his master’s self-satisfied smirk in the corner of his eye.


	6. Chapter 6

After more than a week of unusual peace, Fenris had almost forgotten to fear each time his master dismissed him.  Almost, but not entirely. When he entered his room one night after Danarius had dismissed him, seeing Hadriana lounging on his bed - wearing only a night robe - brought a sinking feeling of inevitability, but no surprise.  

He stopped in the doorway and stared at her, uncertain how to react.  On some few rare occasions, he had been able to bluff his way out of her clutches for the night by claiming an assignment elsewhere.  Weapons practice usually worked; fetching his master a snack or some other triviality was more risky but had also worked in the past. 

Looking at the way she smiled at him, though, Fenris knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid her tonight.  Resigned, he set his sword on the rack in one corner of his room, and began removing his armor under Hadriana’s delighted gaze.  When he had changed into a pair of soft pants and a shirt, he knelt. Head bowed, he let his hair swing forward to hide his face as he waited for whatever she had planned tonight.  

Hadriana rose from the bed and strolled over to him.  Her fingers slid through his hair and across the back of his neck, making Fenris shiver - the feeling she prompted was one of disgust, but she read it as unwilling desire, and smiled.  She repeated the gesture. This time, he controlled himself better and heard her frustrated sigh.

“It hasn’t been so long, has it, slave?  You can’t hide your reactions from me; I will have them.  I think we’ll have our fun right here, won’t we?”

Before Fenris had to come up with an answer to that, footsteps sounded along the hallway.  That alone wouldn’t have stopped Hadriana - she had dragged him into the kitchen and put on a show for all the slaves there more than once, after all, an audience didn’t bother her.  These steps were accompanied by a tuneless humming, however, which meant they could only belong to one person.

Hadriana hissed.  “What is  _ she _ doing down here?”

Fenris didn’t have to answer that either, because no sooner had Hadrian stepped around him with the intention of closing his door, than Ashara was in his doorway.

“Oh!  What luck!  Hadriana, it is good to see you.”  He could hear in her the bright smile she was undoubtedly wearing when she spoke, but didn’t dare move to look at her.  “I went down to the foodmaking room for a snack, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten turned around, and can’t find my way back to my room.  Could you show me?”

Hadriana sneered.  “No, I can’t. I’m not your servant.  Get one of the slaves to do it.”

Ashara blinked at the venom in Hadriana’s voice.  “Oh. Alright then.” Her voice had a slight quaver in it, and Fenris wondered if she had expected kindness from Danarius’ apprentice.

Hadriana snorted in satisfaction and got her hand on the door, starting to pushed it closed.   Before she could, Ashara spoke again.

“Fenris, will you show me back to my room, please?”  He felt a faint thread of hope that he might be able to avoid Hadriana tonight after all.

Hadriana spluttered.  “Not him! I have plans for him tonight.  Find a different slave.”

“I have been trying, but no one else is awake, and Danarius was quite clear that I should disrupt his household as little as possible.  If you have need of Fenris, I promise to send him back when I no longer require his presence.” Fenris could only be grateful that he was kneeling, with his head bowed, because in that instant he was sure his emotions were written across his face.

Betrayal.  She didn’t even know what she was supposed to be saving him from - and he certainly didn’t know when he had started to think of her intervention in that manner - but she had as good as promised to send him back to Hadriana tonight.

Despair.  The crushing of that little bit of hope made his situation suddenly seem much worse than normal.  

Hurt.  She never spoke to him as if he were a slave, and only now did he realize how much he had come to depend on her gentle voice and casual suggestions.   _ I plan on walking farther than usual today, you may want to bring something to eat with us.  Perhaps you could find time to join me for lunch before going to my brother? Fenris, would you rather walk in the formal gardens or the woods?  Would you carry this for me, please, my arms are getting tired.  _ Never had she spoken about him as if he were simply a tool to be used and put back; never had she spoken in a way that reminded him of what he was - a slave, with no free will and no choices.  Until now.

Still, she was a better option than Hadriana, and anything he could do to delay the torments he was sure the apprentice had planned for him was likely something he should be jumping at.  So, before Hadriana could find an objection which might work, Fenris stood and bowed slightly.

“Of course, milady.  It’s this way.” And he walked out of his room, ignoring Hadriana’s glare burning between his shoulder blades.

He was less successful at ignoring the threat in her voice when she called after him, “I’ll be waiting, slave.”  But he didn’t allow his steps to falter.

 

* * *

 

Ashara followed him silently through the house.  It didn’t take long at all for him to lead her back to her room.  When they reached it, he stood beside the door and bowed slightly.  She smiled and shoved the door open herself, walking in before gesturing to him to follow.  Fenris did, feeling suddenly nervous as he wondered about her intentions.

“Thank you, Fenris.  Tell me, how long is Hadriana likely to wait for you?”

That was an unexpected question, and Fenris found he didn’t know how to answer it.  “I… am not sure, milady. It would depend on how she is feeling tonight, whether she was willing to wait in my room or give up on her entertainment.”

Ashara nodded thoughtfully, the corner of her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she studied him.  

“Well, it had would be better to make the wait as long as possible then, don’t you think?”

She had a way of saying things that made no sense, it looked like tonight would be one of those times.  Fenris had no answer for that, so he just studied the carpet at his feet and stayed silent. 

“Hmm.  Fenris, does Danarius ask you about what we do when we’re together?”

Fenris froze, going completely still.  It was the question he had been afraid she would ask him ever since Danarius made it clear what his role was to be, in addition to protecting their guest while she was outside the manor.

Finally, since she was still waiting expectantly for an answer, he forced air into his lungs and answered in a hoarse voice.  “He does, milady.”

She nodded, not seeming surprised in the least.  “And do you report accurately?”

“I try, milady.  My master does not always care for the details, or for emotions, he usually looks for specific information.”

Ashara nodded again, and spun away from him, going instead to pace in front of the fireplace.  A fire burned there, casting golden highlights in her brown hair. Fenris watched her silently.  He had no idea what she was thinking, but he knew better than to interrupt while she was doing so.  

“Well, then, we’ll have to come up with something.  Something that can take a long time, and that you can actually do, and do repeatedly.”  She looked at him, and sighed. “I can only think of one thing that would work, though. Well, two of we’re being honest, I’m not  _ stupid. _  But only one that either of us could live with.”

She was babbling again, but Fenris had a sinking feeling that he knew where this conversation was headed.  He tried to prepare himself mentally. Surely she would be kinder than Hadriana, and at the very least she had no magic to add to his torment.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, after all. She was kind, and not unattractive, and… his thoughts trailed off as she walked over and planted herself in front of him, tipping her head until she caught his eyes.

“What do you know about massage, Fenris?”

He blinked.  “Massage? I… I sometimes massage my master, if he doesn’t care to have his body slave come do so.”

“Can you give me one?”

Fenris took a slow, steadying breath before answering.  “Of course, milady.”

She smiled.  “Good enough.  That’s what we’re going to do, then.  You’ll give me a massage. Take your time, be thorough, it's going to have to last a while.”  

He bowed acceptance, even as he wondered what she meant.  But she was moving, going back to the rug in front of the fireplace.  The bed seemed a likelier place, but she just sat on the floor facing the fire and waited.  

After a minute, she looked over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised.  “Problem?”

Fenris shook himself, and crossed the room to kneel behind her.  “No, I just… I expected something different is all. Don’t you wish to remove your clothes?”

Her eyes widened.  “Do you  _ want  _ me to remove them?”

“No!”  Fenris answered without thought; it only took a breath before what he had said caught up with him and a look of horror crossed his face.  “I mean… I only meant… I apologize, mistress.” 

Kneeling was not enough, he prostrated himself before her, face pressed into the rug, waiting for her punishment.  He was surely too comfortable with her, though he had no right to be. He would deserve whatever punishment she gave him.

Though Fenris waited for her anger, all he heard was a quiet sigh.

“I’m sorry, Fenris, I shouldn't tease you.  I am not angry. Please get up.” He did, cautiously, but kept his eyes lowered.

She sighed again, before turning to face the fire.  “Just a massage, Fenris. Shoulders and neck, if you don’t mind, I’ve been feeling rather sore lately.”  Hesitantly, he brought his hands to her shoulders and started working on the knots he found there. 

He was still waiting for her anger, for the punishment he was sure she would give him, as the silence between them grew.  Finally, he paid attention to the feel of her body under his hands. When he did, he was so startled that he spoke without thinking.

“Your shoulders seem quite strong.”

It should have been a stupid, inconsequential thing to say.  It should have been met with a snort of derision, or ignored completely.  It shouldn’t have caused her to go completely still - as still as he had when she asked him a question he feared answering - but it did.  Finally, she shrugged carefully.

“I grew up on a farm, there have always been lots of heavy things to lift.”

The moment passed, and she relaxed under her hands again.  Suddenly, she twisted around to look at him. “I was reading, earlier.  Would you mind if I continue while you’re doing this?”

Fenris shook his head.  “Not at all.” Then, since she was still watching him, he added, “What were you reading?”

Her face lit with a smile.  “A very silly book of fairy stories.  I should have outgrown them long ago - and I never expected to find them here! - but I love them still.  Shall I read it out loud?”

Surprising himself, Fenris nodded.  She crawled across the rug to a large chair which had been drawn up in front of the fire.  On a table next to it sat a large book. She brought that back over, resumed her position in front of him, and opened it on the floor in front of her.  When Fenris lifted his hands back to her shoulders, she started reading.

 

* * *

 

 

He had completed her massage and at her gesture was sitting a careful distance away from her, waiting patiently for her to speak.  Looking out the window, he realized that several hours had passed.

She had read until the fire had burned low, the light too weak for her to continue.  She had read most of the stories in the book, and even drawn him into discussions of a few of them.  In the long quiet of the evening, sitting with her on the floor in front of her fire, he had slowly forgotten to fear what she might want from him.

She yawned, then winced when she saw he had caught her at it.  “Yes, it is rather late. Do you think she will have given up?”

Fenris nodded.  Once it became obvious that he wouldn’t be returning after simply walking Ashara to her room, Hadriana would not have been willing to wait this long for her master’s despised guest to finish with him.  

“Are you comfortable with going back to your room, then?  Or would you rather stay longer?”

Fenris blinked at the fire, turning her words over in his mind.  There it was again, she was offering him a choice; more, though, it seemed that she understood how much he wanted to avoid Hadriana.  So, he gave it serious thought instead of simply answering that he would do as she wished. 

“I would prefer to return to my room.”

She nodded and climbed to her feet.  Fenris stood easily and followed her to the door of her room.  When they reached the door, she put her hand on it and turned to him.

“The way I understand things here, I… well, I guess I should say that I think I outrank Hadriana, is that correct?  When it comes to telling someone what do, I mean.”

Fenris nodded.  “Yes. Your wishes will take precedence over everyone’s except the master’s.”

She gave a single nod.  “Good enough.” Turning suddenly, she looked at him, her eyes catching his.  His attention, which had been wandering, sharpened; she rarely forced eye contact.  When she spoke again, it was with the careful tone she used sometimes, as if she wanted to be sure that there could be no mistaking her meaning.

“Fenris, each day when Danarius dismisses you, I will expect you to come here.  You may change first, and have a meal if you need one, but then I expect you to come to this room.  No delays, no errands for anyone else. Straight here. Do you understand?”

His tentative thoughts of safety vanished.  She may be slower, less demanding, than his master and Hadriana, but she would want the same thing as either of them.  Of course she would. He was a slave.

He dropped his eyes to the floor, defiantly avoiding her attempts to catch his gaze again.  He knew his place, and he wouldn’t allow her to make him forget it again. He tensed, posture straightening until he was once again every inch his master’s prized slave.  He gave her a short, tight bow.

“Yes, mistress.  I understand and obey.”

He heard her sigh, but refused to make the mistake of looking any higher than her toes.  

“You may obey, but you really don’t understand.  I can’t fix it now, though. We’ll work on it.” 

She opened the door for him, staying well out of his way.  He stepped through, deciding to ignore her words since they made no sense to him.  He gave her another short bow before heading down the hallway. Behind him, her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“Rest well, Fenris.”

As her door shut with a quiet click, he wondered why it didn’t sound like the threat he knew it was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the rating, please. Not explicit, but more risque than normal. Also, it's Hadriana, so don't expect sunshine and rainbows just yet.

“So, pet, I hear you spent the night with our little peasant.”

Fenris had just slipped into his master’s study when Danarius spoke.  He dropped to his knees in front of the desk and bowed his head respectfully.

“Yes, master.”

“And tell me, pet, whatever did she want from you?”  Danarius’ tone was gloating. Risking a quick glance up he saw that his master looked quite complacent; Hadriana, standing at the side of the desk, wore a scowl.

“A massage, master.”

“And that took all night?”  Danarius’ tone went politely incredulous.  It was the tone he used against his fellow magisters, not one he ever wasted on Fenris.  This must be for Hadriana’s benefit.

“Several hours, master.  Then she said I could return to my room.”

“Well, well.  Not all night, after all, then.  What a pity, our little peasant doesn’t seem to know what to do with you.  Tsk tsk.”

“Magister, she was deliberately defying me.”  Hadriana’s voice was level, but her anger was still driving her and she wore a slight scowl.  She never would have pushed the point with so little encouragement, otherwise.

“I don’t think so, Apprentice.  She hasn’t the cunning for it. No, it is far more likely that she wants to use my little wolf herself, but isn’t quite sure how to go about it.”  Another quick glance showed that Hadriana didn’t look convinced, but that Danarius was. Well, it wasn’t anything that didn’t agree with Fenris’ own interpretation of events.  He remained silent.

“Honestly, though, anything that prevents the sort of disruptions we have already suffered through her presence is welcome.  Fenris, has she given you any hint that she will try to pursue the point?”

Fenris shivered, fighting down his anger.  Anger at Ashara for so casually joining the ranks of Hadriana and Danarius.  Anger at his master for being so willing to throw him at her. None of the anger showed in his voice, however, as he answered evenly, “She has said I should return to her rooms each night after you dismiss me, master.”

Danarius laughed with delight, but Hadriana’s scowl deepened.  The magister caught her expression, of course. “Oh, come now, Hadriana.  You have other toys, surely you can make this minor sacrifice for the greater good.  Go ahead, Fenris, you may follow the little peasant’s orders. No one will interfere with you.”

Fenris stood and bowed deeply in acknowledgement, before moving to his position behind Danarius’ desk to stand guard.  His eyes moved in his accustomed vigilance, but his mind wandered. She hadn’t treated him any differently on their walk this morning, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.  He had plenty of time to brood, but not enough information to draw any conclusions.

 

* * *

 

The next several nights were a repeat of the first.  Each night, after Danarius dismissed Fenris from his duties as bodyguard, Fenris would return to his room to change and get some dinner.  Then he would go to Ashara’s room.

Each night, he knocked lightly on the door, and slipped inside when she called a welcome.  Sometimes, she was reading in the large chair by the fire; other nights she was pacing in front of the hearth, hands moving in gestures that held no meaning to him but which spoke of frustration; once, she was sitting at the small desk, writing something.  No matter what she had been doing before he entered, by the time he had closed the door behind him, she had put it aside and turned her entire attention to him.

She had a way of looking at him, her head tipped slightly to one side, the corner of her bottom lip caught in her teeth as her eyes moved over him searchingly.  He found it disconcerting, and he was always careful to avoid her eyes. She didn’t usually try to catch his gaze, but these searching looks seemed to be the exception.  After much too long for his comfort, she would shrug, and move to sit on the hearth rug with her back to him.

Over the last few days, new comforts had silently appeared there.  A pile of cushions had grown, neatly stacked out of the way. She always offered him his choice so he could be comfortable as he knelt behind her.  A new stack of books appeared, as well, books which she could read aloud while he was there. 

She seemed to prefer the journals of adventurers who had made long trips across Thedas.  They always ran into dire hazards, both natural and man-made, but made it through relatively unscathed.  When he dared to grumpily point this out, she laughed. “Well, the ones who don’t survive rarely write books about their experience.”

He was slowly starting to not hate touching her.  She never touched him, never asked him to touch anything more of her than her clothed shoulders and neck.  He had to admit that he was slowly forgetting to dread the evenings; more than that, he was starting to look forward to them as much as the morning walks.  

Sometimes she sat facing him, and instead of a massage, she just talked.  He piled up more of her cushions and lounged in front of the fire, finding the heat comforting even in the mild Tevinter winter.  She apparently read quite a bit about current events in the Imperium, and wished to discuss them far longer than Fenris’ attention lasted.  The only current events he cared about happened in this mansion, and largely to him. 

Eventually, Danarius stopped asking for a report of their nighttime activities, and ordered Fenris to tell him when she finally made a move.  Danarius found his guest horribly backwards and clueless, but this amused him more than anything else, and the general atmosphere in the manor held less tension than it had for years.

Hadriana was another story.

She fumed at the perceived slight, she hated the magister’s guest for denying her Fenris; her anger built, though she hid it from Danarius, until she decided to act.

When Fenris returned to his quarters one evening, dismissed earlier than usual by his master, he found Hadriana waiting for him.  He tried to ignore her as he changed, but she blocked his door and only let him get out of his armor before her hands were running over him.  Fenris locked his jaw, and informed her as politely as possible through clenched teeth that he was expected elsewhere.

“Oh, come now, Fenris.  Surely you’ve missed our nights together.  You must be frustrated, getting no release for so long.  She is the most horrible tease, isn’t she?”

“She is not.  She has said that I must go to her rooms directly after being dismissed.  The master will not like it if she is upset.”

“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll never know.  Danarius dismissed you early, after all.  There’s plenty of time for some fun before she’ll be expecting you.”  Her voice changed from cloying to harsh. “I’ve waited long enough. Get on the bed.”

Seeing no escape, Fenris did as he was told.

Being short on time, Hadriana was more brutally direct than normal.  She poured magic into his markings, gleeful when he writhed in pain. She had learned long ago which spells to lay into the markings that wound around the length of his cock to keep him aroused.  She did so now, watching with delight as his body responded against his will. She didn’t waste any time, mounting him quickly as he lay on the bed. 

Every muscle in his body tensed with the pain of the magic she poured into his markings.  She wreathed her hands in raw magic, and dragged them over his skin. She would be worn out after this, using her magic so recklessly, but he knew she didn’t care.  He tensed against the pain, his whole attention on controlling the markings as she poured more power into them. If he phased now, Danarius would punish him for wasting the power of the lyrium brands.  Hadriana knew this, and delighted in pushing him dangerously close to losing control. The fact that his attention was so focused on the markings meant he had none to spare for the more natural reactions of his body; he wasn’t able to hide these from Hadriana, which delighted her.

She rode him through two of her own orgasms, though the magic she had set into the lyrium veins around his cock both ensured his erection and denied his own release.  Usually, she let the magic fade after she was done with him and left him to see to his own release while she watched. Sometimes, the show inspired her to re-cast the spells and start over.  Tonight, she smirked at him as she put her clothing back in order.

“That was very nice, little wolf, thank you.  I have missed you so much, and it was lovely to feel how much you had missed me, too.”  She ignored him as he shook his head in a denial he didn’t dare to voice. “I know how much of a hurry you’re in to go attend that ignorant peasant, so I won’t keep you.”  

Fenris looked down his body to his still-rampant cock, horror dawning as he caught her meaning.  Hadriana’s laugh was full of malicious delight as she stepped out of his door.

“Don’t worry, the spell won’t last all night - just a few hours.  Do go and see if you can convince the peasant to help you with that.  Perhaps she just needs a little encouragement.” She had left the room before Fenris could start begging her for release; though he would have, if it meant he didn’t have to face the shame of going to Ashara’s room in this state.  

Fenris lay on his bed, trying to force his body into obedience by sheer willpower.  It didn’t work, and he could hear the slaves moving around in the hallway, letting him know he was now later than usual in going to Ashara’s room.  Reluctantly, he rose and dressed, trying to disguise his condition as much as possible.

He knocked on Ashara’s door, trying to convince himself that she wouldn’t notice his arousal, or the persistent color embarrassment had put in his cheeks.  

She was sitting in the large chair near the fireplace, reading, when he slipped into her room.  She was already closing the book and looking over at him with a smile, when she suddenly went very still.  Her eyes flicked over him, once, then she carefully opened her book again and set it in her lap. 

“I just need to finish this chapter, Fenris.  Please do make yourself comfortable while you wait.”  She didn’t look at him, her entire attention focused on her book.

Fenris crossed the room, carefully keeping his back toward her, and arranged the cushions he usually chose in front of the fire.  He didn’t understand her sudden interest in her book, but he wasn’t about to argue the point.

Fenris settled himself on the cushions in his usual sprawl, before realizing how exposed the position left him in his current state.  He huffed with frustration, turning to lay on his side. This was more concealing, but much less comfortable. He flopped over to lay on his stomach; this was the worst option, putting pressure on his erection.  He moved hurriedly into a crouch, glaring at the cushions as if they were somehow at fault. He sat for a moment, knees drawn up and hunched forward, but this was uncomfortable as well, and he wouldn’t be able to sit this way for very long.  As he tried to come up with a position that was both concealing and comfortable, he heard Ashara stir behind him, and froze.

“Sitting on the floor would probably be more comfortable with something to lean against.  You’re welcome to use the front of this chair, if you like.”

Her voice was quiet, and disinterested.  When he looked back, he found she hadn’t even raised her eyes from her page.  His constant motion must have been distracting her. However, the chair she sat in was large enough that her legs - settled off to the side as she leaned into the corner of the chair - left plenty of room for his back.  

Cautiously, expecting her to look up and discover his shame at any second, he moved a cushion back to the chair, and settled on it.  With his knees drawn up, and his face turned toward the fire, he felt safe from any notice she might take of his condition. Leaning against the chair was more comfortable.  To his surprise, he found that being this close to her was relaxing. 

When had he stopped seeing her as ‘not a threat’ and started seeing her as a comfort instead?  How had the slight physical contact of nightly massages made him as comfortable with her personally as he was with her careful, quiet demeanor?  He shifted, and the brush of material over his erect cock had his breath catching in his throat. Could he even trust these feelings, while still in the grip of Hadriana’s spell?

When a slight shift of her position brought Ashara’s left leg closer to him, Fenris didn’t stop to wonder at this new desire; he simply leaned over the small amount necessary for his shoulder to  press lightly against her knee. He let his arm lay along her calf, and leaned against her slightly. His breath caught in his throat, Fenris waited for her reaction to his boldness.

There was no reaction.  The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, and the quiet swish of pages turning behind him.  She didn’t move away, though, so Fenris stared into the fire and remembered to breathe. He didn’t move away, either.


	8. Chapter 8

Everything was different, but nothing had changed.

Every morning, Fenris accompanied Ashara on her walk around the estate.  She had long since lengthened their excursions to cover as much ground as possible in the time that Danarius would allow her to monopolize his bodyguard.  Her pace was sometimes quick and sometimes slow, but she always kept up the stream of chatter interspersed with questions. She always kept her hands clasped together in front of her, just above her waist.  She always walked next to him, instead of in front of him, slowing her steps to a stop if he persisted in hovering behind her. She kept her eyes moving ahead of them, but never tried to catch his gaze. Usually, she brought fruit with them; sometimes she shared it with him, other times she turned it into works of art.  He had lost track of how many lattice-worked apples - or oranges with their skins pared away into delicate lace patterns - she had left on the gate post with a slight smile at the end of their walks.

Every day, she seemed to make a point of staying out of Danarius’ way, and beneath his notice.  She no longer got lost around the manor, but she no longer seemed to venture out of her room very much, either.  She was always content when she joined Danarius and Hadriana for dinner, though, and seemed oblivious to their derision and the little jokes they made at her expense.

Every night, Fenris went to her rooms.  Here was the biggest difference, but even here he couldn’t really point to a significant change.  More often, she sat and read to him while he lounged in front of the fire. She never asked for massages any more, but sometimes, Fenris found himself offering.  She never refused, gracing him instead with a quiet smile and sitting on the floor in front of him. He had found that contact with her could be soothing. She never initiated the contact, but always welcomed his touch. 

Hadriana was stewing, since her plot didn’t seem to have had any useful effect on either of them, but she clearly wasn’t ready to give up.  Sometimes, Fenris caught her 

looking at him with smoldering anger in her eyes; more rarely, he would enter his master’s study just as Hadriana fell suddenly silent.

Danarius had said nothing more to Fenris about Ashara, or about his plans to repeat the lyrium ritual.  In fact, Danarius was often absorbed in his work these days, with repeated visitors coming under cover of darkness for meetings where even Fenris’ presence was not permitted.  

After one of these meetings, Danarius seemed in almost exuberant spirits.  He spent the day gloating silently, loafing around in his rooms and not setting foot in his study even once.  He was particularly attentive to Ashara at dinner that night, speaking to her almost exclusively with a cloying gallantry that even had Hadriana looking askance at him.  He bowed over Ashara’s hand at the end of the meal, chuckling at her confused expression as he walked away with Fenris trailing in his wake.

“Ahh, Fenris, I feel like we’ve spent so little time together lately, my pet.”  Danarius’ continued good mood was taking a dangerous turn, and Fenris kept his eyes carefully lowered as he attended his master in his bathing room.  The body slaves did the work while Fenris stood guard, but that could easily be changed on his master’s whim.

“Yes… you’ve been an excellent diversion for our guest, but I feel quite deprived of your company lately, pet.  I think that you can end your guard duties early this afternoon. Go get changed, then come attend me in my room, pet.”

This was a torment which had been so long absent that Fenris had stopped wondering at it, and simply accepted it.  A dread weight settled in his gut at this return of his master’s particular attention. He thought of the long, quiet night he had expected to spend in front of Ashara’s fire, and found himself fighting back emotions that had no place in a slave’s life.  At the thought of Ashara, his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He couldn’t possibly tell her what Danarius had in store for him. 

“Oh, and pet, you’d best stop by our little peasant’s room before you return here, and tell her you won’t be able to entertain her this evening.”  Fenris didn’t need to look up to see his master’s malicious smile; Danarius had always been an expert at knowing what was in his mind. “Run along now.  No dawdling.”

Fenris gave a short bow, then turned and left the bathing chamber.

He didn’t know how he made it to his room; his feet carried him without conscious thought, his eyes sliding over the familiar hallways without seeing them.  He was thinking of Ashara, and how she would react when he spoke to her as his master had ordered him to do. He changed clothes mechanically, and found himself in front of her door before he had figured out what he was going to say.  It was only late afternoon, much earlier than his usual arrival, and he worried in case one of the other slaves - or worse, Hadriana - would come by and find him here. He knocked quickly, and slipped into the room even before she had called a welcome.

Ashara was standing in front of the fireplace, her hand just drawing back from throwing a paper into it.  She blinked at Fenris in surprise, then smiled at him. The smile faded as he stood with his back pressed against her door, not able to force his feet to carry him further into the room.

“Fen?  What’s wrong?”  Usually, he snorted at her shortened version of his name, but tonight he just shook his head helplessly.

He watched as she walked very slowly towards him, stopping just outside of his personal space; being careful not to crowd him, even as she made her attention and concern evident.  He had to gasp two jagged breaths before he could speak.

“I cannot come here tonight.  Master Danarius has commanded my presence tonight.”  He left it vague deliberately, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t understand what he meant.

Ashara went completely still.  Her eyes flicked over him once, before returning to his face.  The open, concerned expression she’d worn when he wouldn’t come into the room didn’t slip.  Fenris drew a slightly easier breath. She didn’t understand; he was relieved.

Slowly, she drew a breath and spoke evenly.  “Alright. You can come by when you’re done, then.”

Fenris shook his head.  “It will be late.”

She shrugged.  “That doesn’t matter to me.  You can come here anytime.”

He stared, longing to believe her but unable to tell her how impossible such an open ended invitation was for him to accept.  “It will be late. What if you are asleep? What if you are busy? What if you wish for privacy?”  _ What if you figure out what is happening tonight? _  That was the real question, but he didn’t dare voice it.

Ashara watched him through a long, silent pause.  “I will leave the lamp burning. If you see the light, it means I want you to come in.”

Before he could think better of it, Fenris was nodding.  He turned to go, but suddenly she stepped forward, surprising him into stillness.

Slowly, so slowly that he could see what she intended and avoid it if he wanted, she reached out and set her hand on his shoulder.  She let her fingers curl around the back of his neck, brushing against his bare skin. Her touch was gentle, but not coy; firm, but not demanding.  

Still moving slowly, she took the step that brought her into his personal space, closing the distance between them.  They were the same height, which put her eyes on a level with his. Fenris stood rooted in place, eyes wide and staring at her; she didn’t have to try to catch his gaze this time, he had sought hers.  Her hand on his shoulder and neck was calming, anchoring, as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his.

“Fenris.  It will be alright.  I will leave the light burning.”  Her eyes shimmered as he stared at her, looking like crystals under water.  Fenris closed his own eyes, leaning into her touch, and believed her.

 

* * *

 

Of course, it wasn’t alright.  It wouldn’t be alright any time soon.

Danarius had a long period of neglect to make up for, and he was certainly feeling up to the task.  As always, he seemed to read Fenris’ innermost thoughts and feelings as easily as any book in his library; his taunting words often inflicted more pain than anything he might do physically to his slave.

Danarius had a new wealth of torments at his disposal this time, too; it was very quickly obvious that his slave had come to value the good opinion of the peasant.  Danarius spent quite a lot of time assuring Fenris that after  _ this  _ torment, or  _ that _ punishment, she would never want to set eyes on him again.  

Each time, Fenris told himself fiercely that it wasn’t true.  But his master’s words wriggled their way into his thoughts, and twisted around his own fears and doubts, until they seemed all too reasonable.  She couldn’t have known what was going on, she wouldn’t have given him such hope if she had known. She would never touch him again when she figured it out.  He almost laughed out loud at that; her touch, which he had avoided for so long, then come to revel in so recently, would be lost to him.

Perhaps she wouldn’t figure it out?  But no, that hope was dashed when Danarius took a break to admit Hadriana to his rooms for some small discussion.  They lounged on the comfortable sofas which decorated one corner of the room, Hadriana casting smirking, hungry glances back at the corner where Fenris knelt patiently.  When she left, she made sure to say loudly that she would go keep the magister’s guest company. Fenris closed his eyes and despaired.

When Danarius at last ran out of ideas and energy, he waved a dismissive hand at Fenris before heading towards his bathing chamber.  Fenris left - as he always did - quickly and quietly, pausing in the hall to slip his clothing back on and shivering at the raw feeling as the cloth rubbed over his markings.  Slowly, he moved down the hallway.

Now, he faced a dilemma.  He had been correct when he told Ashara it would be late before Danarius dismissed him, it was already after midnight.  Moreover, with his master’s mocking voice ringing in his memory, he was certain that she would be disgusted by his presence.  And there was no hope that she wouldn’t know, not with Hadriana certain to press as many details on her as she could manage. He should just go to his own room - surely she wouldn’t have left the lamp lit, and did he really want to deal with that rejection now?

He was sure that if he just slipped off to his own room, to lie awake in his bed and bury the memories of this night as he had so many others, she would let it go.  She wouldn’t push, especially knowing what she must by now. 

But he had promised.  And she had given him a direct order, even if she wouldn’t think of it that way. With a sigh, trying to prepare himself for her silent rejection, Fenris walked towards the guest rooms.

The other rooms on this hall were empty, and Danarius didn’t want his guest feeling too comfortable - or wandering around at night - so the lamps in the hallway weren’t lit.  Which made it very easy to see which room was hers, the strong, steady light pouring out beneath the door.

She had left the lamp burning.  

 

* * *

 

Fenris slowed his steps as he approached Ashara’s door, debating whether or not he should knock.  It was deeply ingrained in him that a slave must always knock before entering a room. On the other hand, if she had fallen asleep while waiting for him, he wouldn’t wake her if he just slipped into her room.  Then he could leave again, and be disobeying her request.

He still wasn’t sure he wanted to see her tonight.  The light shining under the door was enough to know she wasn’t disgusted by him, even knowing what she surely knew by now.  Fenris paused in the shadows just outside of that pool of light. No one else was stirring in the manor, it was that late. She was most likely asleep.  If he was quiet, and careful, he could slip inside, see her asleep, and leave again. Then he could go to his own room and deal with this night as he had with all the others like it - fight sleep until he was successful and it was time to report to his morning tasks, or fight sleep until exhaustion won and he fell into restless dreams.  That was the best course, he decided.

Fenris moved quickly to the door, opening it quietly and slipping into the room.  Before he had closed the door behind him, he had spotted Ashara. Not asleep at all, sitting in her chair by the fireplace, a book open on her lap; she was turning toward him before he was completely in the room.  

“Fenris.  I’m glad you came.”

Standing next to the door, uncertain what to do next, Fenris didn’t answer.

Ashara smiled at him, then turned deliberately back to her book.  “You’re welcome to come next to the fire, if you like.”

Slowly, Fenris made himself walk across the room.  With each step, it was easier, until he was moving almost normally when he reached the cushions, already arranged invitingly next to her chair.  He came very close to smiling at that, and sat down. It felt natural now settle himself so he could lean against her as he stared at the fire. 

He heard two quiet thumps as Ashara closed her book and set it aside.  Then, her fingers came to rest on his head, running slowly through his hair, over and over.  Fenris took the first clear breath of the night, and leaned into her touch. 

He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t seem inclined to push him.  They sat silently while the heat worked its magic on him, relaxing overstressed muscles until he forgot to be alert against sleep.  Between one slow blink and the next, his eyes didn’t open again and he fell asleep there in front of the fire, Ashara a comforting presence behind him.  

When he woke some time later, he wasn’t sure how long he had slept.  Ashara’s fingers were still dragging slowly through his hair. When he moved, she spoke.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

His habit of thinking before he spoke had been most painfully acquired, but he was learning that it wasn’t always necessary with her.  So he was nodding before giving the inevitable worries time to make him think better of it.

“There’s a change of clothes for you in the bathroom.  You can clean up and get something fresh on.”

That was a bit of thoughtfulness he hadn’t expected - and how had she managed it?  Fenris didn’t ask, just nodded again. He couldn’t find the energy to move, though, so he stayed where he was, enjoying the fire and the simplicity of her touch.

Finally, Ashara laughed softly and tugged teasingly at his hair, startling him; he’d been drifting off again.

“If you don’t get going, you’ll fall asleep for real before you manage it.  If you fall asleep here, you’ll wake up with a horrid sore neck; but if you fall asleep in the bath, you could drown.”

He could hear the grin in her voice, but her words caught his attention.  

“Bath?”

“Well, yes.  It’s all ready, you just need to activate those fancy fire runes to warm it up.  I thought you’d want to clean up.”

She had said that, but he hadn’t expected the luxury of a full bath.  Suddenly, he was much more interested in moving. Fenris rolled gracefully to his feet and moved towards the bathroom. Ashara stood when he did, stretching while he walked away.

“Take your time, but no drowning now.”  

Fenris snorted a laugh and closed the bathroom door gently behind him.

She hadn’t been exaggerating; the bathtub was filled with water, and a clean set of his own clothing was on the counter next to towels that had obviously been left for his benefit.  His last worries that she had sat up longer than planned, instead of deliberately waiting for him, died. Fenris stepped into the bath and settled into the hot water with a sigh.   
  
  


He didn’t stay long enough to fall asleep.  He soaked and washed, and was out, dried, and dressed before she could worry about it.  When he went back out into the bedroom, it was mostly dark and he blinked in surprise.

The lamps were all out, the only light coming from the fireplace and the single candle set into the headboard of her bed.  Ashara was there, surrounded by a small mountain of pillows so that she was halfway between sitting up and laying down. The comforter Fenris used when he was here on chilly nights was folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

Ashara smiled at him, ignoring his sudden nerves.  She patted the bed beside her.

“I didn’t know if you would prefer to be under the covers or on top.  Your choice.”

Fenris let his feet carry him to the bed, though his eyes never left her face.

“I cannot sleep there.”

“Well, you’re welcome to the chair, but trust me, your neck will be stiff for a week.  All the cushions are still near the fireplace if you want the floor, but it isn’t as comfortable as the chair even.”  The cheerful, slightly oblivious tone dropped from her voice as she continued. “You’re safe here, Fenris. Trust me.”

It was the last words, spoken seriously, which convinced him.  He did trust her, had been learning to trust her for weeks now.  He slid into the bed, under the covers, and settled next to her, careful to leave space between them.  Ashara reached across for his hand, and when he gave it to her, tugged him over. He resisted briefly, but then settled against her, head resting just below her rib cage, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist as he curled up against her side.  Her fingers started gliding through his hair again, an unfamiliar feeling of peace settling over him as he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris woke to a room filled with light.  He was still curled against Ashara, and her fingers still slid slowly through his hair.  Fenris blinked and tried to figure out how late it was by the light coming through the windows.  Later than he usually woke, and later than they usually started their walks; earlier than Danarius would be expecting him, though.  He relaxed slightly, then sat up so suddenly that Ashara’s fingers tugged at his hair as it tangled around them. He looked at her.

“You’re awake.”  It came out accusingly; he’d just realized that he was pinning her in the bed, she couldn’t have moved without waking him, so she must have been stuck there all night.

Ashara smiled.  “I am. As are you.”  He scowled at her teasing, and she grinned, unrepentant.  “I would have woken you in a few moments anyway; you’ll need time to eat and make a decision before going back down to your room to change.”

Sliding out of the bed, she went to the door and opened it, picking up the tray that had been left there.  “Reylah is used to me locking the door sometimes, and very politely leaves the tray in the hall when I’ve done so.”  She set the tray on the bed, not at all carefully, and Fenris winced as the teapot slid alarmingingly across it. She lifted the teapot and went to set it near the still smoldering coals in the fireplace to warm.

Walking back to the bed, she waved a hand at the tray.  “Go ahead and eat what you like while I get dressed, there’s always more than I can manage on my own.  We’ll need a plan in a minute, and you’ll think better with some food in you.”

Snagging an apple from the small bowl of fruit on the table near the door, she wandered into the bathroom and the adjoining dressing room.  Fenris looked at the tray, and ate a few things from it. When Ashara came back, he was standing somewhat awkwardly next to the bed, waiting for her.  

She went directly to the fireplace and rescued the little teapot, a curl of steam issuing from the spout.  She picked up an abandoned cup from the table beside her chair and looked at it. Evidently deeming it clean enough, she poured tea into it, then filled the fresh cup on the tray and nudged it towards him.  Fenris took it cautiously.

Ashara climbed back onto the bed, making the tray tilt dangerously with the movement, and sipped her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup.

“So.  I don’t know whether Danarius knows that you came here last night.  He usually does, but it was rather late when you arrived, and Trevin may have given up for the night before you got here.”

This made very little sense to Fenris, but he didn’t bother to sort through it.  She usually said twice as much as actually meant anything, so he latched on to the one part he recognized.

“Trevin?  Master Danarius’ body slave?  Why would he have given up on anything?”

Ashara seemed suddenly interested in her teacup, and didn’t look up at him.  “Well… he follows me, so Danarius knows what I’m up to.”

“Follows you?  Since when?”

“Since I arrived.  He’s not a great spy, but he is very determined.  He usually stays inside while we walk, though, since there aren’t any good hiding places in the meadows.  He isn’t much familiar with tracking or tailing someone in any situation, but at least inside, he can lurk around corners and such, taking care of small tasks that seem perfectly natural.”

Fenris took a moment to marvel at the fact that, even with a ‘very determined’ slave following her, she had managed to get so lost so often when she first arrived.  He wondered if Danarius’ orders had included letting her fumble around, or if she had somehow lost Trevin in her wanderings. He took another drink of his tea, and dragged his mind back to the important point.

“Whether he was watching last night or not, he has most likely returned by now, correct?”

“So; which is why we need a plan.  I see two options - you leave openly and Trevin sees you doing it, or I leave first and draw him away so you can sneak out.  Either Danarius knows you’re here, or he doesn’t. If he knows, then he would expect you to be seen leaving; whether you are or not won’t make much difference to him.  If he doesn’t know you’re here, and you’re not seen leaving, no problem. If he doesn’t know you’re here and you _are_ seen leaving, he will be curious, but will most likely assume you got here so late that Trevin had already gone to bed.”  She shrugged. “I think it is most likely down to what you prefer; there doesn’t seem to be much risk with any option.”

Fenris sorted through this, trying to see all the angles she had presented.  She certainly had a twisty sort of mind when she wanted to; he wouldn’t have thought through so many possibilities on his own.  He couldn’t find any flaws in her reasoning, though. Finally, he answered.

“I would prefer to be as discreet as possible.”

Ashara nodded and bounced off the bed; Fenris caught the tray automatically and steadied it before she could make a mess of things.  He was amused, these trays were for magisters to use as they languished in bed of a morning, not for someone with Ashara’s energy. He wondered how many had been upset by her hurried movements.  Fenris looked up, and found her standing right in from of him. He released the tray and straightened.

Smiling, Ashara reached up as she had done the day before, and set her hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around the back of his neck.  She leaned up, and pressed her forehead to his.

“I’ll miss our walk this morning.  I hope you have a good day. Will you come this evening?”

Fenris nodded, unable to speak.  She didn’t seem to expect any more of an answer; she released him and went to the door.  Casting a wink over her shoulder she picked up a book from the table near the door, then slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Moving to press his ear to the door, he could hear something crash to the floor.  He waited until the voices died away - Ashara’s sounded apologetic and eager to help, Trevin’s sounded slightly harried as he tried to reassure her: he didn’t need any help, the cart she had knocked over had held nothing breakable, the book she had dropped hadn’t hurt him, and he certainly didn’t need any ice for a bump on the head that didn’t hurt.  Fenris shook his head; she didn’t do anything halfway. When he slipped out of her room, the hallway was deserted, and he hurried to his own room to change.

 

* * *

 

Butterflies had settled in his stomach by the time he reached his master’s study.  The day after an evening spent with Danarius was always uncomfortable in one way or another.  When he entered the study today, though, it was to find Danarius and Hadriana absorbed in some books and a map spread over the desk.  Danarius waved him absently to his usual place, and Fenris went gratefully. He scanned the room automatically, trying to keep his mind from wandering back to Ashara.  Finally, the conversation at the desk caught his attention.

“See, it says that the red variety can be used instead of the reduction.  It might even be more powerful.”

Danarius nodded.  “Yes, I agree with your interpretation.  That could save us a great deal of time, except for one problem.  We don’t have any.”

“I know, but look here.”  Hadriana pulled another book out from the pile and flipped to a marked page.  “This passage here. It’s talking about a vein of the stuff, don’t you think?”

A pause, while his master read the passage carefully.  “It does seem to. But this is an old book; it has most likely been harvested long since.”

“But have you heard of anyone using it?  If it had been harvested, wouldn’t it be common knowledge among mages by now?  That much? It would have been used, and sold, or used and seen at least. This isn’t exactly common reading material, Magister, I have been searching for it for months now.”

Danarius chuckled at his apprentice’s offended tone.  “Yes, yes, my dear, you have been most clever. Very well, it can’t hurt to go look, anyway.  A little voyage will be a welcome change of pace, don’t you think?”

Hadriana nodded eagerly, turning back to the map and studying the route they might take.  Her enthusiasm dimmed noticeably when Danarius added,

“Of course, there is the little matter of our resident challenge.”

Hadriana rolled her eyes.  “Can’t we leave that problem here for a time, Magister?”

“Indeed, we must.  I was simply thinking that this might be the most opportune time to deal with that matter as well.  After all, we can hardly be held responsible for what occurs in our absence, can we?”

Hadriana’s smile was enough to send a shiver down Fenris’ spine.  “We certainly can’t. How unfortunate.”

“I’ll let you handle the details, then.  The rest of my formula is still in the greenhouse.  Remember, only a small amount - we want the full result delayed until we have left the country.”

Danarius didn’t turn around, but his tone held so much venom that Fenris forced his full attention onto his duties.  Better not to worry about whichever rival his master was speaking of; Fenris wanted no part in the fights of mages.

 

Fenris carried out his duties in silence all day, and Danarius was so focused on whatever he and Hadriana were looking for, that he paid very little attention to his slave.  Fenris followed him silently through the manor as many orders were given and maps consulted. He stood guard as several messengers left and returned. He stood silently against the wall as Danarius, Hadriana, and Ashara ate dinner.  

Danarius and Hadriana were too absorbed in their planning to pay much attention to Ashara, even to make jokes at her expense.  Finally, she broke into their conversation,

“You are taking a trip, then, Brother?  I hope that I will be included as well. I quite enjoyed traveling here, and would like the opportunity to see more places.”

Danarius nodded indulgently.  “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind.  We are still working out the details, but hope to leave within a very few days.  We will be traveling lightly, and you’ll have to see to your own needs. You won’t have trouble with that, will you?”

“Not at all, Brother.  I am very familiar with doing things on my own.”

“Excellent.  I’ll let you know when our plans are in place, but I expect to leave in two or three days.”

Fenris sighed silently with relief.  Listening to his master’s plans, he had thought Danarius meant to leave his guest at home - certainly he hadn’t mentioned her in all the conversations about travel and rooms and food.  But he hadn’t been at all surprised by Ashara’s request, and hadn’t mentioned any inconvenience, so he must have been planning for it all along.

 

* * *

 

Danarius and Hadriana were completely absorbed by their plans; Fenris was dismissed early as they headed back to the study, not even wanted to check the room.  He stood outside the closed door for a moment, trying to see if there was a trap to trip him up, then shrugged. He couldn’t get in trouble for following orders - he had been dismissed, and he had a standing order to go to Ashara’s rooms when that happened.

Fenris set off for his own room, moving more quickly than he usually did.  It had been an oddly unsettled day, and he was looking forward to the peace in Ashara’s rooms.  He changed quickly, got something to eat from the kitchen, and was knocking on her door before the time when Danarius usually dismissed him for the day.  He didn’t wait for an answer to his knock before opening the door and entering; he froze in the doorway, gaping at the scene before him.

The cushions, usually stacked neatly next to the hearth, were strewn around the room as if flung about by a hurricane.  The contents of the desk had been shoved to the floor - fortunately, the inkwell had been missed and was still sitting on the desk, the only item on it.  The pillows from the bed were likewise spread across the room; the covers in disarray at the foot of the bed, instead of neatly drawn up. Ashara was pacing furiously in front of the fireplace, waving a crumpled periodical and grumbling to herself.

“What has happened?”  His voice was sharper than he had intended, but Fenris was suddenly very sorry that he had left his sword in his room.

Ashara glanced over at him, looking completely surprised at his presence.  “Fenris. I wasn’t expecting you until later. Never mind,” hastily, as he started to back towards the door, “you’re welcome here.  Come and be comfortable. I’ll be over myself in a few minutes.”

Since none of that answered his question - or was particularly reassuring - Fenris repeated his question.  “What has happened?”

She glanced around the room, as if just now realizing the state it was in, and flushed slightly.  “I read something in the society pages that… annoyed me.”

“Annoyed you.”  He said it in the perfectly flat voice he used with his master, and noticed that it made her wince.  She nodded. “And what did you read?”

“That Dellia is getting married.”

Fenris thought for a moment, then shook his head.  “Who is Dellia?”

“Octavia’s _daughter_.”  This last was spat as if she found the girl disgusting.  

It took another long thought before Fenris put the names together with anything useful.  “Octavia, the Archon’s sister?”

She gave a sharp nod.  “So.”

“I thought her daughter had no magic.”

“Oh, she doesn’t.  But with her bloodlines and wealth, apparently that is to be overlooked, and mage gifted children hoped for.”  

Fenris started moving around the room, collecting scattered cushions; he wished his thoughts were as easily collected.  He glanced over, Ashara had resumed her pacing.

“What is wrong with this marriage?”

“Oh, nothing.  If she had known and was hiding it, there’s no reason to marry the girl off - the lack of magic is an obvious excuse.  But if she’s gone to all this trouble, then she can’t know. And _that_ is galling.  I’ve spent so long trying to figure out which of them was responsible, and now it’s obvious that it’s not her.  There’s no reason for it, she doesn’t even _know._ ”  

Fenris set the cushions in their usual arrangement, and sat down with his back to her chair, watching her pace.  She continued talking, more to herself than him, he thought.

“And I hadn’t found any proof here, but this is enough.  I haven’t been as diligent lately, it’s true, but I was sure I wouldn’t find anything.  I was so thorough! And now I’ve been wasting time, and who knows what’s going on at home?”

She was quiet for long enough that Fenris ventured a question.  “Wasting time, how?”

She stopped as if she’d walked into a wall, and looked at him with a stricken expression.  “No, not wasted. I should not have said that. Not wasted at all. Equally, though, not what I was supposed to be doing.  Worthwhile, definitely, but… well. Delaying. And now I’m running out of time.”

None of this made any more sense than anything else she had said, but at least she was still now, her speech slowed down as she thought instead of going in circles.

“You can stop delaying now, though, surely?  And get back on track?”

She rolled her eyes and snorted, and came to throw herself into her chair.  “So, so, so. You’re right, of course. Nothing to do but go forward. And we’ll be leaving soon, right?  That may make things easier.” She was up again quickly, and putting the room back to rights.

“Surely Reylah can do that?”

“Why should she?  She didn’t make the mess.”  She went back to cleaning, not even catching his surprised look at her response.  Finally, she finished and came to sit down.

“Well, is there anything you can tell me about where we’re going?  I don’t know much about Seheron.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, have an enormous chapter to make up for it! This isn't the end, part two starts next week.

Fenris was feeling smug.  

He sat at the large table in the kitchen, facing the entrance, so that when Ashara arrived, he could see the look on her face.  It was the first time that he had ever gotten here before her for one of their morning walks. No matter how quickly he rose and dressed, she was always here first, chatting with Valleran.  She never mentioned it, but it had at first worried him and then simply annoyed him, that she was always there before him. Today, though, he was first.

And she wasn’t just not first, she was quite late.  Fenris glanced out the window. They’d have to take a shorter walk than normal, she was so late.  The bustle of the kitchen around him gave no indication as to where she might be, either.

He waited another few minutes, then went looking for Reylah.  She was in the laundry room, helping wash linens. 

“Reylah, have you seen Milady Ashara this morning?”

“No, I usually don’t go to her room until she’s out for her walk in the morning.  She has said she doesn’t need me earlier. She gets a bite from the kitchen, and then I bring her a better breakfast later.”

“She has not come down for her walk.  Will you go and check on her, please?”

Reylah nodded, starting to look concerned.  “Yes, that’s not like her. I’ll check.”

She hurried out, and Fenris went back to the kitchen to wait.  

It wasn’t long before Reylah was hurrying in, looking worried.  

“Oh, Valleran!  Fenris, you were right.  Milady is so ill! She says she hasn’t been able to keep anything down all night.  She said not to make a fuss, but I’m worried about her. She looks horrible, but won’t have me call for the Master.  What can we do?”

Valleran went very still, then returned to his work with slow careful movements.  “You must do as she says. For now. Bring her some tea, and some bread, and don’t leave her alone too long.”

Fenris scowled.  “I will speak to her.”

“She won’t like it.  She doesn’t want a fuss made!”

“I will not make a fuss, but I will speak to her.  If she is as ill as you say, the Master must know about it.”  

Reylah shook her head, eyes wide with fear.  Going against an order was bad enough, but they might run afoul of both the master and Ashara at this rate.  Fenris sighed. “I will tell him myself, if it seems necessary.”

He left the room before anyone else could object.  He wasn’t worried about Ashara punishing any of them for going against her wishes.  Danarius might - either for bothering him with something minor, or for not telling him about something important - or simply for going against Ashara’s wishes, if he was unwilling to waste an opportunity for punishment.  Fenris was willing to take the rist, if Ashara was as ill as Reylah thought, and needed help despite her own stubbornness.

He reached her room, and knocked softly.  He voice was faint, but he opened the door and stepped in when he heard it.  

She was laying in the bed; the mountain of pillows she insisted on had been shoved to the floor.  She lay curled on her side, every blanket in the room piled on top of her, and shivering. Her face was pale, and she looked like she was sweating.  She looked at him, and there was a flash of surprise in her eyes before she coughed weakly.

“Fenris.  You shouldn’t be here.  I’ve got a fever and who knows what, you don’t want to catch it.”  Even her voice was weak and shaking.

“I will not.  But Reylah says you will not permit the master to be told, and she is concerned about you.”  He kept his tone even, trying to hide how concerned he was at seeing her.

She shook her head.  “No need to worry, I’m sure I’ll be fine soon.”

He didn’t look convinced.  “If you are not better by the evening meal, I will tell Master Danarius.”

He got a reluctant nod, but no answer.  Fenris stood uncertainly for another minute before realizing she had fallen asleep.  Turning, he left quietly.

He stopped by the kitchen to relay his conversation to Reylah and Valleran, then went to his duties for his master.  His mind was on Ashara the whole time, though.

 

* * *

 

At the evening meal, he managed to catch Reylah’s eye.  She shook her head, Milady wasn’t any better. Fenris gave her a firm nod, and spent the time while Danarius and Hadriana ate trying to work out what he would say.  

When Danarius stood from the table, Fenris stepped in front of him and knelt, head bowed.

“Yes, pet?  Is there something you wish to say?”

“Yes, Master.  Your sister is ill, Master, and has been all day.  She thought she would soon feel better, and didn’t want you to be bothered.  But she is not better, and it is concerning.”

He risked a glance up.  Danarius was scowling at Hadriana, but he answered readily enough.

“Then I shall go and check on her, pet.  Thank you for telling me this.” Fenris waited for some threat or censure to follow, but Danarius simply stepped around him and walked from the dining room, Hadriana on his heels.  

Fenris blinked in surprise for a moment before getting up and hurrying after his master.  He caught the end of a conversation, Danarius was speaking to Hadriana in a furious whisper.

“A small amount, I said!  Delayed result, I said! If you have ruined my plans, I assure you that you will be the one to pay the price!”  Hadriana started to protest, but cut herself off at a curt gesture from Danarius when Fenris reached them. 

They were at Ashara’s door quickly, and Danarius went in alone.  He spent a long time within, while Fenris and Hadriana waited in the hallway.  Reylah approached hesitantly, and stood out of the way. Hadriana paced, agitation clear, while Fenris stood against the wall, considering what he had heard.  A suspicion was slowly forming in his mind; he tried to fit in the various bits of conversations he had overheard, and didn’t like the picture they painted.

Finally, the door opened and Danarius stepped out.  He closed the door, and spoke loudly and clearly. “My sister is ill, and does look most alarming, but she and I both believe she will be well in a few days.  If she changes her mind, a healer will of course be sent for immediately; but I trust her judgement in this case, and will not force a healer on her.” Fenris glanced around, and saw that several of the slaves had gathered around the hallway to listen.  There was a general nod and sigh of relief at this news. Their master knew, and he was handling it. All they need worry about was following orders. 

Danarius started down the hallway, motioning Hadriana to follow him.  In a far quieter voice, he said, “A day or two at most. We’ll have to leave for Seheron tomorrow if we’re to be clear.  See to it.”

 

* * *

 

It was several hours before Fenris was dismissed for the night.  Danarius had been busy, despite his order for Hadriana to see to it, issuing orders and overseeing the plans for their trip.  He had moved up the departure by several days, though fortunately most of the plans were easily adjusted. They would leave the next day at noon, Danarius, Hadriana, and Fenris; there was no room on the ship for the body slaves they had planned on taking, a fact which annoyed Danarius, but couldn’t be helped.  They would be leaving Ashara to the care of the manor slaves, who had strict orders to obey her every word and offer her every care. The reason Danarius claimed for this rushed departure was a message conveniently delivered just before the evening meal, which he said indicated growing unrest in Seheron; he wanted to be finished with his business there before trouble started.

Fenris doubted this tale, though he knew nothing of what the message had said.  He grew more and more impatient to check on Ashara as time passed; finally dismissed, he didn’t even stop to change out of his armor before hurrying to her room.  

When he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, he saw that she was sitting in the chair near the fireplace, still looking miserable.  He crossed the room, and knelt before her chair, head bowed. He didn’t dare look up at her, but her could hear the shock in her voice when she spoke.

“Fenris?  What are you doing?”

“Milady, I must tell you something.”

“I thought we were beyond this, Fenris.  Are we not friends?” 

The words cut into him like a sword.  “You will not wish to be my friend when I tell you this thing.  If I am wrong, I will deserve severe punishment; if I am right, you will hate me for failing you.”

She leaned forward, sliding her fingers along his jaw to his ear, curling them around the back of his neck.  When she spoke, her voice had lost the weak tones of illness. He almost looked up at her, but remember what he was about to say and kept his eyes properly lowered.  “I doubt either of those will be true, but go ahead and tell me.”

“I believe Hadriana, on Danarius’ orders, has poisoned you.”

He couldn’t believe he had forced the words out; she may not know it, but it didn’t matter if he was right or wrong, the words alone were a death sentence if anyone other than her knew he had said them.  He was so determined to hold himself still and not react to anything she said that he didn’t understand her words when they came.

“I know.”

When the sense of her words hit him, he couldn’t keep his eyes lowered any longer, he gaped at her.

“You  _ know _ ?  How?  Why have you done nothing?  Summoned a healer? Danarius is livid - the dose was too large, you have only a day or two!  He has been frantically changing his plans to be gone before you die!”

Ashara blinked at him, then shocked him completely by laughing.   _ Laughing. _

“Oh, Andraste’s knickers!  Too large? I can’t believe it!  And here, I thought I was doing a good job of convincing them the dose had been too small.”  Her voice sounded normal, and when he paid attention to her face, she looked normal too - not at all ill or pale; not shivering or huddled in the chair.  “And now they’re leaving without me? Just what I need. I assume they’re taking you?”

Fenris nodded, and slumped back onto his heels when she stood up and started pacing rapidly.  He watched her for a moment, before he recognized the feeling growing within him was anger. He was angry - at her - and hardly knew where to start.  He stood and placed himself in her path, glowering at her.

“You  _ knew? _  And you allowed it to happen?  There is no cure, he said.  What are you thinking?”

She blinked at him, then smiled slightly.  “Ah. Yes, I knew as soon as I tasted that stew last night.  And I don’t need a cure, I’m immune to begin with. As clever as my dear brother thinks himself, he doesn’t know much about poisons.  It was clear which types of poison I needed to be on guard against as soon as I saw his greenhouse. ‘Medicinal’ my arse.” She snorted.

Fenris held onto his temper with an effort.  “You knew. You have not been ill at all?”

She looked contrite, now, and reached a hand towards him; he flinched away and she carefully folded her hands together at her waist.  “Yes, I knew. No, I have not been ill. When I tasted the poison in the stew last night, I knew one of them had put it there. There was quite a lot of it, and I hoped that if I could convince them they had nearly succeeded but had used too little, they would wait until we were in Seheron to try again.  I thought they would find it easier to be rid of me without questions there, and that I would help them in that desire. But you tell me they meant to make it more slow, so they could leave me here where I would apparently die of natural causes while they were far enough away to be safe.” She shrugged. “It makes sense, and it could have worked for them.  It makes my task harder, though.”

Fenris could feel his anger draining away in the face of her calm and her obvious health.  He wasn’t ready to let it go entirely, however. He had taken what he thought was a huge risk in telling her his suspicions, and he wasn’t willing to accept that it hadn’t been a risk at all.

“And what, exactly, is your task?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, it was to find out who had sent the assassin against my father, return the favor personally, and get back home.  It took me too long to discover that Danarius had sent the assassin, though, and before I was ready, they took matters into their own hands.”  She ran a distracted hand through her hair and sighed.

“So, so, so.  I can’t retaliate before he leaves, and I can’t be here when he returns.  We go on.” She speared him with a sudden look that cut through his lingering anger.  “Is that door locked?”

Fenris went and locked it; when he turned back, she had rolled back the rug on the floor in front of the fireplace.  He couldn’t figure out what she was doing, so he stood with his back against the door and watched her. She reached into the fireplace, behind the mantle, and when she pulled her hand out, she was holding a long, plain dagger wrapped in oiled leather.  She dropped it on the floor and shook her fingers, he realized belatedly that it would be hot, that close to the flames. 

In a few minutes, it was cool enough for her to pick up; she did so, then used the point to pry up a floorboard.  Curiosity drew Fenris from his place against the door. She had revealed a large open place beneath the floor, and started pulling things out of it.

First, two net bags full of small jars.  The first bag held jars filled with a red liquid that seemed to glow in the firelight; healing potions, he realized.  The jars in the second bag were filled with a vile green liquid; Fenris began to guess how she had recognized the poison in her stew, and how she had inoculated herself against it.  She pulled several heavy looking smaller bags, which clinked when they moved out, then several strands gems and pearls - necklaces, he saw with a start, and where had those come from?  She hadn’t brought anything that fine with her when she arrived. Finally, two long, wickedly curved knives. She sat back to look at him, grinning slightly.

“Surprised?”

“To say the least.  Where did this all come from?”

She shrugged casually.  “The knives are mine; they were packed carefully enough that Reylah didn’t find them when she unpacked my bags.  The potions, I made here, at night when everyone was asleep.” She looked at him and grinned. “I unhooked Hadriana’s lyrium reduction every night for a week to make these.  She hasn’t noticed yet that it’s taking longer than it should.” He just blinked at her, so she hurried on. “The coins came with me, also packed carefully. The jewelry I found here - it belonged to Danarius’ mother, and he had it all stored in the attic after she died.  I was surprised he hadn’t sold it, but pleased. When I decided to ask you to come with me, I knew we’d need more funds than I brought originally.”

He was thinking about how often she had gotten lost when she first arrived, and the places she’d been found; how Hadriana had been sure the door to her study was locked despite Ashara’s confused claims of it being open; he thought of the long knives, the hidden money, the familiarity with poisons and potions… her words jerked these thoughts to a halt.  

“You’re going to ask me to come with you?  Where?”

“Well, remember, I was planning on leaving at least one dead body behind me.  And once I met Hadriana, I was determined she would be another, even without other offenses.  So it wasn’t much of an gift. But yes, I was going to ask you to come with me, come to Ferelden, be free.”

He gaped at her.  Free? The thought had never occurred to him.  He could go to Ferelden, and be free? She was still talking, though.

“Well, it won’t work that way now.  But you can escape from Seheron, that may even be easier for you - Danarius doesn’t have the extensive network there that he has here, he’ll have to get home before he can send anyone to look for you, and that will give you time to get away.”

He couldn’t consider this.  He would be punished for the very thought.  Besides, even if it might have been possible with her, it was clearly impossible without her.  He tried to explain this. 

“I can’t do that.  I wouldn’t know where to go, or how to get money.  I couldn’t read a map, and I couldn’t trust anyone who offered help not to be in Danarius’ employ.” 

She gave him a look that told him she thought he was being impossibly stupid.  “Fenris, haven’t you been listening for all these weeks? You don’t need a map, you know the best route from here to Ferelden.  You know where the ships stop. You know what to buy in each port, and sell further along for a profit. You  _ know _ these things.  Did you think I was talking for my health?”

It took him a minute.  All her chatter while they were walking in the mornings.  Her annoying assumption that he cared about her voyage here - the shopping trips, the stops, the sights.  Her even more annoying questions, forcing him to listen and remember. There had been a point to all that, a plan, and he hadn’t even suspected it.  He nodded slowly.

“Yes, I do know those things, but --”

She cut him off.  “Do you have a dagger?  I know you have that hulking great sword, but do you have a common dagger?”

“I do.  But --”

“Good, I’m going to need it.”  He didn’t move, and she looked up at him.  “Now, please.” He was on his feet and halfway across the room before he thought about it.  Her tone had changed, the slightly soft, uncertain note dropped entirely. Fenris shook his head.  He hadn’t realized how much of an act she had put on, even when they were alone together. He had long ago noticed that her manner around Danarius was different, but now he saw she had adapted to him as well.  A good thing, this Ashara - confident, commanding, in control and clearly prepared for anything- would have terrified him when they first met, before he trusted her.

He brought her the dagger, and she looked it over, nodding.  “That will do. You’re not particularly attached to it, I hope?”  He shook his head, mystified.

“Good, then.  Look here. I’m going to switch it for mine.”  

She held both up, side by side.  Both were common daggers, without much to notice about them.  She put his down, and offered him hers. He took it, turned it over in his hands, and shrugged.  The balance seemed off, but perhaps that was because it was a poor quality tool. He had never relied on his own dagger for defense, so it wouldn’t much matter.  Certainly, no one else would be able to tell the difference. 

She took the dagger back and caught his eyes.  “Watch.”

She twisted the pommel nut, and to his surprise, it came away in her hand.  When she held the dagger toward him again, he saw the entire hilt was hollow.  She didn’t say anything as she picked up the strands of pearls and slid them into the dagger hilt.  She fit all the pearls, and one strand of gems in, before she put the pommel nut back on, and handed him the dagger.

“There.  I wish I could send you with the coin instead, it’s easier and will draw less notice.  I can’t figure out how to conceal it so you can get to it without Danarius or Hadriana seeing, though.  Can you?”

Fenris shook his head.  She seemed to take it for granted that he would be making his escape while he was in Seheron with Danarius.  Ashara wasn’t paying attention to him now, concealing her supplies back under the floorboards. Finally finished, the rug rolled back into place, she moved back to sit in her chair.

“Well?”

“I… Ashara, I cannot do what you are suggesting.”

“You can.”

He hadn’t expected the flat contradiction.  He moved to sit with his back against the chair, and tried again.  “You don’t understand what it’s like. When he commands me… really commands, I mean, not just a casual order… I cannot disobey him.”

She thought about this.  “I’m sorry. I had meant for us to go together, so I could help you.  But Fenris, please believe me - you cannot stay here. It isn’t safe. You  _ must  _ leave before he manages to repeat that lyrium ritual.”

Fenris jerked around to stare at her.  “What do you know of that?”

Ashara met his eyes steadily.  “Only what I read in his notes and books over several visits to his study.”  She gave him a minute to absorb this. “As much as a non-mage can understand, I suppose.  The ritual he did -” she waved unnecessarily at his markings - “didn’t work the way he wanted.  You can access the power stored there, as well as any mage who knows what they’re doing. He is hoping desperately that his rivals won’t realize this.  He thinks he has found a way to tie the power of the markings to himself only. That is what the refined lyrium Hadriana is making is for. I slowed them down, but I can’t stop them.  If this new ritual works, he will be the only one able to touch the power in those markings, and he will be able to control you through them. You  _ must _ leave before he can do that to you, Fenris.”

He sat silently, trying to absorb this information.  He didn’t doubt the truth of what she said, and didn’t doubt her understanding of Danarius’ plans - his master’s own comments matched them too well.  When he didn’t move or speak for several minutes, she got up and went to the window. The darkness outside was brightening slightly; he had been here longer than he thought.

“You’ll need to get back to your own room.  Can you tell Danarius that I was very ill?” He nodded.  Danarius would hardly need his confirmation, it would be a slight lie.  “Thank you. Please think about what I’ve said, Fenris. I won’t be here when Danarius returns.  Be safe, whatever you decide to do.”

Fenris stood.  He felt that there should be something more to say, in this moment, the last time he would see the only person who had ever been a friend to him, but he couldn’t find any words.  She walked back over to him, and slowly reached out to set her hands on his shoulders. She caught his gaze and held it firmly.

“I’ll watch for you when I’m home.  Remember, Ferelden, Lothering, the third farmhouse on the east side of town.  I’ll leave the lamp lit for you.”


	11. Chapter 11

_ Three Years Later _

 

Fenris watched from the rooftops.  The group Anso had hired from him was good, that was clear.  He was far enough away that he couldn’t make out details, but they were cutting through slavers with admirable ease.

He didn’t trust them, though; he hadn’t been able to offer enough coin to purchase honesty.  He wasn’t planning on letting these people out of his sight until he had secured the contents of the chest.  Just as they entered the building, however, there was the sound of footsteps in an alley to his left. Moving cautiously, Fenris went to the side of the building and peered down.  Six more men, being as stealthy as men in full plate armor could manage - they could only be here for one purpose. Fenris cast another glance over the rooftop, he would have to grant some trust, it appeared.  He couldn’t allow them to be suprised by this ambush.

Fenris worked quickly, and far more silently than those he fought.  By the time the captain was confronting Fenris’ hired fighters, he had only one man left - a situation Fenris quickly remedied.  He was considering smugly how much he could reduce the amount he had offered these fighters in light of the amount of work he had done himself, when he walked down the stairs and came face to face with the last person he had ever expected to see again.

Ashara.

His mouth kept running, taunting the slaver, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.  He walked past the man, and stood staring at her, not certain whether he could believe his eyes.  

It  _ was  _ Ashara.  The same face, one eyebrow arching in surprise; the same eyes, fixed on his face as if she could will him into making eye contact.  She was dressed differently, of course, not at the mercy of Hadriana and Tevinter fashions; dressed in worn leathers, her hair pulled tightly back from her face, the two wickedly curved knives he remembered from that last night in Tevinter worn openly at her hips.  His eyes traced her face, trying to determine if she remembered - if she blamed him - if she...

Her lips were just starting to form his name, her hand rising as if to touch him, when the slaver set a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re going nowhere, slave.”

Fenris was incensed.  All at once, his markings lit with blue fire as he turned and plunged his hand into the man’s chest.  That hated word, that hated  _ lie, _ was all it took to ensure the man’s death.  

“I am not a slave!”

His growled denial wasn’t for the dead man; the words were rote, repeated to himself in a constant refrain to keep the monsters that haunted him - waking and sleeping - at bay.  

It wasn’t until he let the man drop lifelessly at his feet and turned back to her that he realized what he had done.  He flinched away from her and refused to meet her eyes. Reminding himself that he was safer alone, he took refuge in the cold solitary distance he had practiced for three years.

She had never seen him use the power of these detestable markings.  How she must hate him now that she had seen what they could do - what he could do with them.  He stepped away from her and began talking, focusing his gaze off to the side, determined to act as if they had never met before.  He watched from the corner of his eye as her hand - still raised as if to touch him - was withdrawn. It was all the confirmation that he needed: she would hate him now.

He paced rapidly, talking as fast as he could, trying to convince her to help him as a stranger; never acknowledging their shared past.  She was mostly silent, allowing the others who accompanied her to ask him about the slavers and Danarius. He didn’t look at her again until he asked about the chest.  She was standing with her hands clasped at her waist, her head tipped slightly to the side; the pose was familiar and comforting, remembered from a dozen walks in Danarius’ meadow, or evenings spent in her room.  Her voice was gentle when she told him the chest had been empty; she didn’t ask what he had thought it would contain. 

Her words and posture recalled so strongly the only person he had ever called a friend, that Fenris found it natural to ask for her continued help.  He saw the flare of hatred in her eyes when he told her Danarius was within reach; knew it echoed his own. She agreed readily enough.

He almost smiled at the thought of spending time with her, before he recalled what fighting beside her would mean.  She would see him use the markings over and over again during the fight. She might be kind enough to help him - and in the process hurt Danarius - but she hated him now, and would surely end their association as soon as Danarius had been dealt with.  Better to keep this on a purely impersonal level.

“I will find a way to repay you, I swear it.”  He saw her recoil, saw the hurt on her face, and knew she wouldn’t let him get away that easily.  She was too kind, too stubborn, to see reason. She would help him until she hated them both - him for what he was, herself for failing to save him.

He had to get out of there, away from her, had to give her the space to realize just how detestable she would find him now.  

“The magister is staying at a mansion in Hightown. Meet me there as soon as you can.  We must enter before morning.” He left without waiting for her confirmation, without giving her time to say anything at all.

 

Fenris could only wish he was surprised when she arrived in Hightown before he had even settled into his vantage point.  He had tried to convince himself, on the walk here, that he hoped she would take his silent hint and abandon him to his fate.  He had known he wouldn’t be successful so soon, but he had almost taught himself to hope for it. 

On the other hand, the fight in the manor would be much more difficult without her.  Surely that was the only reason that he sighed with relief when she walked towards him.

She was all business, hands still clasped loosely at her waist, her attention given to him and the mansion.  She didn’t try to catch his eyes, didn’t try to step near him or say something that only he could hear. Fenris thought that perhaps he had been successful after all, and this support was nothing more than her own desire to kill Danarius - perhaps it had nothing to do with him at all.  For some reason, this was not a comforting thought. 

 

Fenris fought his way through the mansion in a snarling rage.  He could tell that Danarius was not there - had not been there for some time, if he had ever been there at all.  At the end of it, he felt drained, empty and lost, and barely able to stand himself, let alone the eyes of Ashara’s friends on him.  Ashara had carefully not looked at him while they fought; she knew as well as he did that Danarius was not here.

He leaned against the wall of the manor, the stones still held some of the day’s warmth, and considered.  They hadn’t found Danarius, and now she might think they should work together until they did. There was sense in that, and he should welcome the help.

How could he work with her, though, and watch her growing contempt as she learned what he was?  What these markings had made him? 

He was a monster, a dangerous one, and he would be more dangerous to her than to any other.  Danarius would take delight in ordering Fenris to kill Ashara; Fenris had already proven how weak he was when it came to Danarius’ commands: she would die if his master willed it.

He was a killer, too, made so by Danarius’ whim and Danarius’ training, and the markings that Danarius had put on him.  She hadn’t seemed to pay them much attention before - and certainly she had seen more of them in Tevinter than she could now - but that had been another time, another world, where nothing more lurked in the background than one abused slave she hoped to be kind to, and possibly save.

So, so, so.  They would work together, but nothing more than that.  He would keep this distance between them, saving her from him and saving himself from her.  Even if she couldn’t see the risk he could; he was not a slave now, so he would do something about it.

 

* * *

 

Fenris had come up with a very simple plan: work with Ashara when needed, but completely ignore their shared history, and avoid any attempts she made to return to the closeness which had grown between them three years ago.  He hadn’t thought it would be so easy.

He’d been determined not to hide his feelings any longer: he wasn’t a slave, he could say what he wanted.  He spread his bitterness around freely; he didn’t much care what her companions thought of him, and as long as she stayed away from him, his purpose was accomplished.  Besides, he had plenty of bitterness to share. 

He’d started by complaining about the mage she worked with, and unwittingly insulted her sister; the very Bethany she had spoken so fondly of on their walks.  When he realized what he’d done, he had almost apologized. Only by keeping his attention on the plan was he able to avoid undoing all the accidental progress he had made.

Actually, mages and magic seemed like a pretty easy way to push her away.  Their past friendship - the one he was ignoring - gave him several insights on how best to keep her from wanting to spend much time with him.  So he sniped at the mages in her party, and complained about mages in general, and made himself rather disagreeable all around. 

At night, and on those days when she didn’t request his help, he sat in the mansion he had liberated and reflected on his success.  She hadn’t made a single effort to speak to him privately, hadn’t said anything that would hint that she had known him before that night in the alienage, had barely spared him a glance even when he was working with them.  His plan was progressing quite well.

Fenris was miserable.

He spent the nights pacing in front of his fireplace (a habit he refused to acknowledge that he had learned from her).  Why had it been so easy? Why wasn’t she pushing - as she had before - to gain his trust and friendship? Was he so easily thrown away?  Or had she changed so much?

That new thought - that she might have changed, even as he had, in the three years since she’d bid him farewell in Tevinter - stopped him in his tracks.  Perhaps there was more going on than he knew. There was only one way to find out.

 

* * *

 

Varric knew perfectly well that Fenris was standing uneasily in his doorway.  He didn’t look up from his writing; the grumpy elf was unpleasant to all of them, but especially to Hawke, and he hadn’t done anything to endear himself to Varric.  If he wanted something, he could bloody well ask.

It took several more minutes, and a few pointed sighs from the doorway before Fenris spoke.

“Dwarf.  I would request your help.”

“Elf.  You’ll have to be more specific, I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“I… You like to tell stories.  Can you tell me Hawke’s? I feel that I don’t know as much about her as I should.  How did she come to be here? And… her family?”

Varric looked up, and considered.  “Well… I have told that story, more than once and more than one way.  I have the feeling though, that you aren’t interested in dragons swooping in to save the day, or Hawke walking across the surface of the ocean to get here?”

Fenris scowled.  “I am not. I would have the truth.”

Varric chuckled.  “Then you’ve come to the wrong place, Broody.  I don’t usually deal in truth, I deal in stories.  Grain of truth here and there, of course, but not what you’re looking for.  Have you ever tried just asking her?” 

Fenris snorted, and turned to leave, and Varric just couldn’t let the opportunity pass.

“Wait a second there, Broody.  We could work something out, couldn’t we?  Just because I don’t usually deal in truth doesn’t mean I can’t.  How about a trade?”

“I have very little of value, Dwarf.”

“No, no, I just want to trade information.  I’ll tell you as much of Hawke’s history as I know, and you clear up a little mystery for me.  What do you say?”

“What mystery?”  

The elf clearly had something besides brooding going on in his head - he sounded appropriately cautious.  Varric grinned, this would be informative no matter what happened.

“Well, Hawke has developed an odd habit around you, and I was wondering what you know about it.  See, whenever you’re with us, she keeps her hands folded at her waist. It doesn’t make much sense - hard to walk that way - and she never does it unless you’re around.  Care to shed some light on that for me?”

Varric made a show of picking up his pen with a flourish and waiting for an answer, wearing a wide grin.  He didn’t get an answer, but by the way Fenris slammed the door and stamped down the stairs, it was clear he’d struck a nerve.  Well, wasn’t that something? Varric was beginning to think the elf knew Hawke better than either of them had let on, which only made the way he treated her more confusing.

Well, he’d done what he could.  Varric turned his attention back to the supply lists on his desk.  Bartrand’s expedition to the Deep Roads was leaving soon, and he definitely needed to fix some of his brother’s oversights.  


	12. Chapter 12

Varric would have been surprised to learn how much time Fenris spent considering his suggestion.   _Have you ever tried just asking her?_  Fenris considered it.  He made up his mind half a dozen times just during the the walk back to his mansion.  But always his courage failed, or rose, and he changed his mind.

In the end, Fenris considered too long.  By the time he was satisfied that he would never ask Hawke such a question - that the answer didn’t matter and wouldn’t change anything - he learned from Aveline that the expedition had left.  He didn’t leave the mansion for three days.

Now that she was gone, he changed his mind again; knowing what had happened three years ago - and why she was so readily going along with the pretense that they’d never met before, why she had never even tried to talk to him - became something he _needed_ to know.  But he couldn’t do anything about it, he could only wait.

The days passed, and turned into weeks.  Fenris worked when he could; Aveline would often put him onto a likely job here and there.  Otherwise, he kept to himself. As the weeks passed, each more slowly than the last, he started to worry that she had been gone too long.  Finally the day came when Merrill - of all people - came to his mansion to tell him that Varric had sent a note saying they were back. They were on their way to Hawke’s house, then the Hanged Man.  If they were quick, Merrill thought they could meet the travelers at Gamlen’s and walk to the Hanged Man together. Fenris picked up his sword and went with her, fighting down the relief that washed over him.

They walked silently through the streets, and though Fenris kept alert to potential threats, they arrived at Gamlen’s without incident.  Walking up, they knocked on the door.

It was opened by Aveline, dressed in her full guardsman’s armor, she filled the doorway.  She stood with her arms crossed over her chest; there wasn’t room to get around her, and he doubted she would be pushed aside.  Fenris scowled, but she spoke before he could demand that she move.

“No.”  Just that single word, in a flat voice.

“What?”

“This is not a good time.  Go away.”

“What are you talking about?  I just want to see Hawke.”

“No.  Leave.”

“Aveline, I will not leave without a better reason than ‘not a good time.’”

That got him a frown, but she didn’t move.  She looked at him steadily for a moment, then sighed.  

“Bethany is gone; she is a Grey Warden now.  Hawke is… distraught. This is not a good time for you to be here, talking about how all mages should be locked up or killed outright.  Anders is unsettled as well, and I doubt an argument between the two of you would help matters either. Go home, Fenris. I will tell Hawke you were here.”

Before he could object, raised voices came from inside.

“My baby, my Bethany!  Lost - gone forever. Oh!  Both my babies lost! Why, Andraste?  Oh, Maker, why must you take both my children?”  Her eyes fell on Hawke. “And what good are you? You have protected none of them!”

Gamlen’s voice protested, and Aveline looked at their gathered friends, then glanced nervously over her shoulder at Hawke; there were hints and meanings here that none of them understood.  Hawke was standing in the middle of the room, not looking at anyone. Her mother knelt on the floor in front of her, sobbing.

“Perhaps it's better if I leave for now.”  Her voice was steady and distant.

Gamlen nodded.  “She’s not thinking.  She’ll regret it later, you know she will.  Give her time, and understanding.”

“Of course, Uncle.  I’ll return later.”

Hawke walked out of the room, past Aveline as if she didn’t see her, and down the steps outside.  She didn’t look at any of them, didn’t speak, and didn’t seem to have a direction in mind except ‘away.’  Her friends stood still, staring helplessly at each other. Only Fenris moved.

He caught up with her, walking so close that their shoulders brushed.  His voice was quiet enough that none of the others heard him. “Ashara.”

She jumped, then turned to look at him, a spark of hope in her eyes.  “Fenris?”

It was a question, and he knew exactly what she was asking.  With a quiet sigh, he gave up his last hope of keeping himself safe from hurt, and nodded.  

“Fenris.”  There was a world of relief in her voice, the recent pain overshadowed for the moment.  “We should talk.”

He nodded, feeling uncomfortable suddenly.  “Yes. But… later, perhaps.”

She smiled sadly.  “Yes, in a few days.  May I come by?”

“You may.”

“Thank you, Fenris.”  There were so many layers of meaning in those two words, he didn’t even try to untangle them all.  Instead, he gave her a single nod.

Aveline came up, then, and took Hawke’s arm in her own, turning her steps toward the Hanged Man.    


She came later that night.  He hadn’t expected her - had assumed she would get a room at the Hanged Man - but she was standing in the doorway to his room, the firelight reflecting on the tears running down her face, and he couldn’t send her away.

She was crossing the room before he stood from his chair, and settled herself on the dirty floor in front of it.  He had to smile slightly when she leaned back against the chair, eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the hearth. When she was still, he moved so that his leg rested against her arm.  They sat without moving through the night.

 

* * *

 

Despite their agreement to talk, it was more than a week before he saw her again.  He had heard - everyone in Hightown had heard - that she had regained her family’s mansion, had cleaned and repaired it, and that she and Leandra had moved into it.  He assumed this meant that whatever had been happening in Gamlen’s little house when Hawke returned from the Deep Roads had been resolved.

He was slightly offended that she would so willingly put off speaking with him, but mostly he was relieved.  When it came to it, did he want to hear that she hated him now? Or that she didn’t hate him, though he knew she would soon enough?  He had changed his mind again, far too late to take it back. So he sat in the mansion, not stirring even when Varric came to see if he wanted to spend an evening at the Hanged Man, and waited.

When she finally came, she was smiling slightly, but looking pained.  

“This place is a cesspit, Fenris.  How can you live here?”

He scowled at her.  “It suits me.”

“Even the dragons from the Bone Pit wouldn’t be suited in this place, Fenris.”

Fenris snorted.  “It suits me.”

She rolled her eyes, but walked across the room to look out the window.  Something in the view pleased her, because she smiled slightly before turning to face him, leaning against the wall.

“We should talk, we agreed.  Where shall we start?”

“Why bother?  You don’t care about me.”  He knew he sounded sullen, but couldn't help himself.

Her eyes widened.  “ _What_?”

He couldn’t bring himself to bring up the most obvious point, so he settled on the more easily spoken one.  “You have been perfectly happy acting as if we’ve never met before. You don’t care anymore, if you ever did.”  He scowled into the fireplace, avoiding her eyes.

“Fenris.  You started that - I didn’t understand it, and I still don’t, but I wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”  

He remembered how careful she had always been about offering choices, but never insisting on things.  There had been one exception - one thing she insisted he must do - but he wasn’t willing to speak of that, or the consequences.  Instead, he held onto his original accusation.

“Then why haven’t you come before now?”

She sighed, and slumped where she stood.  “I’ve been so focused on getting the house back for my mother.  It’s so important to her, and I had hoped it might help her… well.  She seems willing to act as if nothing has happened. It’s the best I can expect, I suppose.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t suppose anyone does but she and I, and Gamlin.  Everyone else who knew is gone. Well. It’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?”

A story of her history could hold no risks for him.  Fenris nodded.

“You know about my father, yes?  He was a Tevinter Magister, and Danarius’ father as well?”

“Yes.  Danarius was very upset to find that he wasn’t dead, but living in Ferelden with a new family.”

She gave a short laugh.  “Oh, more than just upset.  Danarius sent an assassin to solve the problem.  He knew before my father sent me to Tevinter, though, he’d had a private spy trying to track my father’s movements for years.  I can only guess that he was suspicious of the accident which had supposedly killed my father; it seems a long time to keep looking, though.”  She shrugged, but Fenris wasn’t surprised. Danarius would go to far greater lengths than a privately hired spy to secure what he felt was his.

“Why did you come if you knew that he had tried to kill your father?”

“Well, we didn’t know, then.  There was one other person in Tevinter who may have sent the assassin.  That’s why my father sent me to Danarius. I was to find out which of them had sent the assassin, kill that one, and return home.  It shouldn’t have taken very long - certainly not long enough for a repeat attempt, or an attempt on my life.”

“So you were never at risk?”

“Oh, I was - you know Danarius and Hadriana tried to poison me, and it wasn’t just because I was an unwelcome guest.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t either, at the time, but I did when I got home.  Danarius had sent a second assassin while I was in Tevinter.  That one succeeded.” She closed her eyes against the pain of the memory, and Fenris wondered what it had been like for her to flee from Danarius, and arrive home to find her father dead.  

After several steadying breaths, she looked at him again and continued.  “That's why he wanted to be rid of me - I was the only other threat to his wealth and power, you see.  I could have inherited it instead. So he tried to kill me, too.”

Fenris was nodding, this all made sense enough.  Suddenly a thought stopped him. “Who was the other person who may have wanted you dead?”

She looked out the window again, not meeting his eyes.  “My mother.”

He blinked.  “Leandra? But…”

“No.  My father had an affair, before he left the Imperium.  He was most annoyed to find that there had been any product to their infidelity, but there I was.  He wanted to make the best of it, find some way to raise me as belonging to one or the other of them.  But it seems my mother disagreed. She told him she would kill the baby as soon as it was born, rather than let any suspect that she hadn’t been true to her husband.

“He tried to reason with her, and failed.  It made him realize how tired he was of life in Tevinter, always so focused on power and position that a baby should be a threat to powerful magisters.  So he started planning his escape and a new life. And he hired a thief, the best he could find, to help him steal me from my mother.

“What he didn’t know was that the thief took his instruction to be discrete very seriously.  The thief located a foundling of the same age, and switched us. He brought me to my father, and left the decoy child in the nursery.  He figured the subterfuge would be discovered too late to do anything about it - my father left Tevinter the very night that the thief brought me to him.

“Neither of them would have guessed that the switch would never be discovered.  My father could never have known that his mistress would decided that it was safe enough to keep her daughter when the baby’s father turned up dead, she’s raised her all these years as her husband’s child.  No one has suspected, as far as I could tell.”

Fenris was staring at her, enraptured by this tale, but she hadn’t met his eyes once since telling him that Leandra wasn’t truly her mother.

“When did you learn this?”

“Which part of it?  I’ve always known that my father left a life of power and ease in Tevinter when he could no longer stomach the machinations of the powerful people around him.  That Leandra wasn’t my mother? The night he decided to send me to Tevinter.”

“And so it was this other woman who may have been trying to kill your father?”

“Yes.  He thought she may have discovered that he was alive, and that I was too, and would want us both dead.”

“How did you know it was not her?”

She laughed; there was no humor in the sound.  “I read the society periodicals. And saw that she was getting _married._ ”

Fenris thought back, dimly recalling that she had been furious about the marriage of someone she didn’t know.  It hadn’t made sense at the time, but now… his thoughts ground to a halt.

“Octavia is your mother?  You’re the archon’s _niece_?”

She nodded, not saying anything and not turning from the window.  He thought furiously.

“The other night… when Leandra said…”

“Yes.  She has always considered me her daughter, as I grew up thinking she was my true mother, but things have been strained since I returned from Tevinter.  She blames me for my father’s death, and I can’t say she is wrong.”

“How can she?  How could you have prevented his death while you were in Tevinter - at his request?”

She sighed.  “If I had returned earlier, I might have been able to prevent it.  If I hadn’t been born, he might not have been at risk. Or in Ferelden at all, but… grief is rarely logical.  She doesn't mean it, really.  I know she loves me.”

There was a long silence before she looked at him again.  “I waited for you, I hoped you would come. For three years, I missed you and thought of you.  Why didn’t you come to Lothering, Fenris? What happened?”

Fenris recoiled.  He did _not_ want to discuss this.  She saw it. Smiling slightly, she motioned him over to stand next to her at the window.  He did so, nervously expecting her to press for an answer. She just pointed out the window.  Across the square, just barely visible from his window, was a balcony. In the gathering dark, it was clearly lit by a lamp set on a small table.

“That’s my room, Fenris.  When you’re ready to talk, or just want company, come over.”  

He was shaking his head before she even finished.  She set a hand on his arm, and ducked her head until she could catch his gaze.

“I do want to spend time with you again, Fenris.  I miss our quiet evenings. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I would enjoy your company.  Any time.

“When you’re ready, come over.  I’ll leave the lamp lit.”


	13. Chapter 13

Fenris waited three nights before going to Ashara’s.  

The first night, he avoided his window and turned his whole attention to the bottle of wine he had liberated from the cellar.  There were quite a few down there, ready to keep him company and provide him with an excuse not to look out his window. 

The second night, he glanced out the window whenever he happened to be near it, checking her balcony.  The light was always there, burning cheerfully. Before the night was half through, he had taken to pacing his room so he would have an excuse to look out the window more often.  

On the third night, he gave up pretenses and opened his window.  Wedging himself into the window ledge, he sat and stared across the square all night.  The light never wavered, though his determination to avoid her did.

The next night, after several nervous glances to make sure she hadn’t changed her mind, Fenris walked to her front door and knocked.  He was greeted by the joyful barking of her mabari, and the curious glances of her steward. Messere Hawke was in her room. Would he care to wait in the library while she was told he was there?  

Fenris went where he was told, and so she found him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, far enough away from anything that might be valuable that he couldn’t accidently touch it.  She smiled at him, welcoming, and he relaxed slightly.

She took him up to her room, which was decorated with a simple comfort that didn’t match the rest of the mansion.  He guessed her wishes held sway here, at least, and wasn’t surprised to find a fireplace with two chairs and a small sofa drawn up in front of it.  

“Have a seat, Fenris, anywhere you’re comfortable.”

Fenris considered.  He knew she meant him to sit in a chair or on the sofa; he was no longer a slave, no longer inferior to her, why shouldn’t he have a seat here?  Equally, though, he had missed her; missed the quiet time they had spent together in Tevinter, missed the gentle drag of her fingers through his hair and the way her limitless serenity seemed to soak into him through the slight contact he initiated.

_ I am not a slave _ Fenris reminded himself.  If being free meant he could sit in one of those chairs in her home, didn’t it also mean he was free to choose where he wanted to sit?  He thought that it did. Decision made, he sat on the floor in front of her chair, hoping she would understand.

She seemed to.  She hummed softly, sounding pleased, and ran her fingers gently through his hair.  “I’ve missed you, Fen.”

He gave the expected snort at this shortening of his name, and she laughed quietly.

  
  


They quickly settled into a rhythm.  

She always told him if she would be home late or out of Kirkwall over night on some task.  Some nights, she spent the early part of the evening at the Hanged Man. She often invited him to join her on these nights; occasionally at first, then with increasing frequency, he did so.  He would never consider some of her friends as also being his friends, but some of them he got along with quite well, and he found that he enjoyed spending time with them. Slowly, he formed friendships of his own, and started to look forward to the nights he accompanied her to the Hanged Man.

Whether he joined her at her home later, or went there directly from the Hanged Man, or came earlier in the evening, he spent most of his evenings there.  Not all of them, though. He was not a slave, and he would choose where he went and when. Some nights, he stayed away, even if it meant sitting alone in his mansion, simply to remind himself that he had the power to choose.

She never commented on these nights when she saw him again, and never intruded on him.  It was several months before it occurred to him that he could extend her the same invitation she had extended him.  When he did, the delighted smile on her face made him both proud to have the ability to invite her anywhere, and guilty that it had taken him so long to think of it.  She came, not every time he decided to stay home, but often enough that he knew she was pleased to be with him. Having someone who sought out his company - not ordered it, or demanded it, or expected it, but  _ sought _ it - was a revelation.

  
  


Slowly, though, Fenris’ mood soured.  He noticed it first in the nights when she told him she wouldn’t be home until late, but didn’t invite him along.  He knew this meant she was visiting one of the others, and that it was a private visit. He knew she did the same thing for him - even telling Bodahn that she wasn’t available for anything short of an emergency when he was there - but it still rankled.

It wasn’t long before the others noticed his sour mood.  Comments on his “brooding” started flying again, though he had mostly been free of them for several months.  

He couldn’t have said what the problem was, really.  He wasn’t jealous, certainly... except that it set his teeth on edge when she spent an entire walk back from Sundermount talking to Varric about poisons, while he was left to trail along behind with Aveline.  And watching her talk to Sebastian - or worse, Anders - had his fists clenching at his sides.

He walked into the Hanged Man, they had agreed to meet there this evening, but when he saw her standing at one end of the room Varric usually claimed for them, Sebastian behind her with his long arms wrapped around her, guiding her raised arms through some meaningless movements, Fenris turned on his heel and made his way to the bar instead.  He shoved a drunk patron out of his way, and gruffly demanded an ale, downing it in a few rapid swallows.

It was Isabela who solved the mystery for him, in her usual direct way.

She sidled up to him, somehow slinking into a space that shouldn’t have been large enough for her. “Oh, just screw her already!  I can’t stand the tension any longer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Hawke, of course.  That woman needs a good tumble, and you’re just the elf to do it!  I’ve been trying to convince her to visit the Rose with me - or,  _ with me _ , you know, whichever - but she keeps refusing.”

At his blank look, she threw back her head and laughed, catching the attention of several nearby patrons.  “Oh, dear. You don’t have a clue, do you? Look, we can all tell you want Hawke, so go and get her already.  She hasn’t figured out why you’re so grumpy all of a sudden, but trust me - she’s interested.”

“I… do not know how to go about such a thing.  I have no idea how a courtship would work.”

Isabela laughed again.  “Who said anything about courting?  Just sex, darling, just sex. Have some fun, let loose a little, glisten at her if you’re feeling generous.”  

His gaze, which had wandered toward Hawke, swung back to Isabela as a glower.   “I do not glisten.”

“Sure, sure.”  Isabela was already turning her attention to a rather muscular newcomer at the end of the bar.  “Look, Fenris, just tell her what you want. And don’t worry about Sebastian, he is most boringly dedicated to his vow of chastity.  Run along now, I’m about to be very occupied.” 

She slid away, leaving Fenris to stare into the bottom of his empty mug, thoughts spinning out of control.

  
  


Suddenly, the quiet nights spent in Ashara’s room held a danger they never had before.  Not from her, the danger was all in his own thoughts. It was too easy, staring at the fire while her fingers slid through his hair, to let his mind dwell on Isabela’s suggestion.  Often, this train of thought brought its own problems, his body seeming to side with Isabela’s interpretation of events. Avoiding her in the evenings didn’t help, the problem was rather more acute when he didn’t have the distraction of potential embarrassment to help reign in his thoughts.

The days brought their own dangers.  Hawke favored simple leathers, close fitting so she could move easily, soft enough to cling enticingly.  With her hair bound up out of the way, the long line of her back and the flair of her hips were entirely distracting.

“If you don’t do something about this, I will.”  Isabela’s voice, coming from next to him as they followed Merrill and Hawke along the Wounded Coast, was idle and teasing.  He still scowled.

“I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“No?  You’ve tripped three times in the last mile, because you can’t take your eyes off Hawke’s arse long enough to pay attention to your feet.”

Fenris swung around to glare at her.  “Lower your voice!”

Isabela laughed, loudly enough that Hawke turned and looked back at them with one eyebrow raised.  When she saw that Fenris looked more harried than amused, she smiled sympathetically at him, waiting until he smiled back before she turned around again.

“Yes, clearly one or both of you needs a good screw.  I’d be perfectly happy to oblige, you know.”

Fenris forced his attention to the ground in front of him, determined not to get caught looking at Ashara again.  There was a long pause, before he realized that Isabela was waiting for an answer.

“No.  Thank you.”

“Oh well.  If you wait much longer, I may get a yes out of Hawke yet.  The woman isn’t made of stone, you know.” Isabela grinned wickedly when he turned to frown at her, but then evidently took pity on him.  “Never mind, I know well enough I wouldn’t get a yes from Hawke if I was the only other person in Thedas.”

They walked in silence for some time.  Fenris found his eyes wandering back to Ashara.  

He turned his attention to the ocean, guiltily wondering if Isabela had noticed.  A moment later it became clear that she had. 

“Oh!  I know!  I’ll ask her for you!”

Fenris was horrified at the thought.  He wasn’t sure if she would act on it, though he had known her long enough to be worried.  He said repressively, “No. Thank you.”

“Spoil sport.”  Isabela pouted until they set up camp for the evening, but she left him alone.   
  


 

He spent two days avoiding Ashara when they got back from the Wounded Coast.  The first night was easy enough, they spent it at the Hanged Man, and he made sure to drink enough that going straight to his own bed was the most natural thing in the world.  If she wondered at his sudden pursuit of intoxication, she didn’t say anything about it.

The second day was easy enough too, he had a truly horrible headache, and had just groaned at her when she showed up to see him in the early afternoon.  She had laughed - quietly enough, but heartlessly, he thought - fetched him water and some food, and left him alone. 

That second night was harder; he spent it sitting in his window, staring at the cheerful puddle of light on her balcony.  She didn’t come, though he had half feared and half hoped that she would, and he sat there throughout the night. The light never wavered, but his determination did.  Finally, in the first light of dawn, he decided.

Perhaps Isabela was wrong about Hawke’s feelings, but he couldn’t deny that she was correct about his.  He would take this tangle of emotions and doubts to Ashara, and see what she could make of them. Tonight.

 

* * *

 

When Fenris’ nervous shifting had tangled his hair around her fingers half a dozen times, Ashara sighed, and gave his hair a gentle tug.

“Is there something on your mind, Fenris?”

“Yes.  There is something I want to discuss with you.”

“I’m listening.”

He was silent for so long, that she began to think he had changed his mind.  Then, “I… ‘Shara, I want....” Frustrated with himself, he pulled away from her with an impatient huff, twisting around so he was kneeling in front of her.  He looked up at her; she was watching him with her head tipped to the side, and one eyebrow slightly raised, waiting patiently. She was always patient with him, more than he ever was with anyone - especially himself.  He took a deep breath and set his hands on her knees, hoping to absorb some of her serenity.

“You.  ‘Shara, I want  _ you _ .”

He was watching her, so he saw the play of emotions reflected in her expression.  He could see exactly when she caught the sense of what he was trying to say. There was surprise on her face briefly, in her widening eyes.  Some emotion flared - fast and bright - in her eyes, but was gone before he could put a name to it; the warm smile he had hoped for came last, lighting her eyes, so sincere as to remove any doubts.  She answered him as simply as he had made the request.

“Yes.  Fenris,  _ yes. _ ”  

He grinned, relieved and elated, and she answered his smile with her own.  She didn’t move, though. He was waiting, but she sat motionlessly in her chair, watching him.  

“Now?  I thought… Why are you just sitting there?”  He was already nervous again, his eyes flicking over her shoulder to the bed.  He had expected that she would take him there directly, but she wasn’t moving. What did she expect from him?   

In a flash, he realized.  She would be waiting for him to make the first move, waiting for him to show her the direction he wanted this to take.  He wasn’t really sure about that, but some things seemed to be universal, and spending time around Isabela had been an education of sorts.  Leaning forward, he kissed her.

It was a rough kiss, harsh and demanding, as if determination alone could carry him through the uncertainties of the situation.  It wasn’t a great kiss, but surely she didn’t expect a lot of finesse from him?

She didn’t seem to mind; she was pliant where he touched her, leaning gently into him.  She brought her hand up to push his hair back, her fingers brushing lightly against his ear as she hooked his hair behind it.  That touch had him breathing faster, harsh breaths through flared nostrils. He pushed closer to her, hoping she’d do it again, his lips demanding against hers.  

When she brought her hand back to his face, set it lightly along his jaw, the memory flashed over him.  Suddenly, he was back in his cramped room in Danarius’ mansion, Hadriana’s despised face leering at him as she touched him possessively.

Fenris shoved himself away so hard that he over balanced and landed on his backside.  His eyes were wide, staring at Ashara’s concerned expression without seeing it.

She reached out slowly and set her hand on his shoulder.  He flinched, but tried to hide it. She curled her fingers around the back of his neck, and leaned forward until she could rest her forehead against his.  She was silent while his breathing evened out and his eyes focused on her.

“Gently, Fen.  There’s no rush, we can go slowly.”

He tried to protest, but she shook her head slowly, not leaning away from him.  

“Here now, let’s start somewhere we’re familiar with.”  Her fingers kneaded across the back of his neck. “How about a massage?”  

There was a smile in her voice, and Fenris found himself smiling in return.  He’d given her plenty of massages - her excuse for keeping him away from Hadriana, though it had taken a long while before he realized this was deliberate - and he had slowly come to trust her when she didn’t demand anything more from him.  He nodded.

“Well then, sit there, and I’ll just borrow this cushion to kneel on.”  She slipped out of her chair without looking at him; he settled himself facing the fire, though he was feeling slightly nervous about this reversal of roles.  “Comfy?” She waited for his nod before starting. 

Her hands on his shoulders were an unexpected sensation.  Fenris watched the fire, but tried to concentrate on the feelings her touch evoked.  She had always been careful about touching him, and as he learned to trust her his pleasure in her touch had grown.  This was something else entirely.

Her hands were strong, the fingers that kneaded his clenched muscles were effective.  She started humming something quietly, a habit he remembered from Tevinter, but hadn’t noticed her indulging in lately.  There was enough familiarity in the situation - sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames, Ashara a comforting presence at his back - that he was leaning into her touch before long, feeling much less nervous and tense than he had.

She started with a simple massage, but as he relaxed, the movement of her hands changed.  Less directed, more long glides across his shoulders and down his arms. When she reached his elbows, all of his arms that the loose shirt he wore covered, she started up again.  When her hands met at the back of his neck, her fingers brushed across his skin - a familiar touch, her fingers there, and reassuring - and then she slid her hands down his back, along the line of his spine.  Fenris stretched and leaned into her hands with a long sigh. She brought her hands down to his waist, then started back up and began again.

By the time she had traced the same path several times, he was so relaxed that if she moved suddenly, he would have fallen over.  She had been sweeping her hands down his back along his spine, and up again along the same path. Slowly, she started stroking more of his back, fingers brushing along his sides to his waist, then back up along his spine.  Fenris closed his eyes and concentrated on her touch.

He had almost forgotten why they had started this, when she leaned forward and spoke softly.  Her warm breath against his ear called up unpleasant memories, but he pushed those away forcefully.  He was where he wanted to be. This wasn’t Hadriana’s cruel mocking, or Danarius’ despised orders; this was Ashara, her voice warm and gentle, giving him a choice.

“Do you think you might take your shirt off?  We’d both enjoy this more, I think, if you do.”

Her hands never stopped their slow glide over his back and shoulders, the soft brush of her fingers across the bare skin at the back of his neck; he knew she would accept any answer he gave without question.  She was unlikely to be repulsed by just seeing his markings. 

Taking a deep breath, fighting off new fears and old ones, he nodded, and pulled the shirt off over his head.

She set her hands on his shoulders, her touch the same as it had been a moment ago.  To his relief, she didn’t try to trace his markings, or go out of her way to avoid them; her hands slid up and down his back as if she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.  He was starting to relax again, when she leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his shoulder.

Fenris was halfway across the room before he drew a breath, he was standing at the door - hand on the knob - before he let it out.  With the second breath came thought. It had been a perfectly innocent kiss, just a chaste touch of her lips to his skin. It should not have recalled memories of Hadriana, sucking marks onto the skin at his throat, or memories of Danarius demanding other intimacies.  

But it had.

He had been a fool to think he could have this.  A fool to think that he would ever be truly free, ever be happy.  Isabela could go on about how it was “just sex,” but he had been a fool to think he could be normal enough for that even.

There was silence behind him.  Fenris squeezed his eyes shut, and let his head fall forward against the door with a soft thump.  He couldn’t leave without his shirt, but getting it meant turning and facing her. He didn’t think he could.  He fought down the tightness in his throat, clenching his fists at his sides. 

“I’m sorry, Fen.”  

He was nodding before she finished speaking.  She would send him away, or perhaps promise to remain his friend.  Any other possibilities had died the minute he fled from her.

“I should have asked first, I didn’t mean to startle you.  Will you come back? Tell me what bothered you about that?”

Fenris was so surprised, he turned to look at her.  She was blaming herself? She hadn’t sounded like she despised him for his weakness.  She was looking at him steadily, the concerned expression she wore matched her tone. He shook his head.

“It is my fault.  I am a fool to think I could have this.  I should have known better. I may not be a slave, but I will  _ never _ be free of him.”

She stood up slowly, and walked toward him.  She moved with the same care she always showed, and kept her eyes fixed on his.  She didn’t look at his bare chest, or his clenched fists. When she reached him, she set her hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around the back of his neck, the same way she always had.  He could almost imagine nothing had changed between them.

“You will be free of him, Fenris.  You are now, but your memories haven’t gotten the message yet.  That’s all. You can have this -  _ we _ can have this.  We just have to go slowly.”

She hadn’t closed the space between them, but he did, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers.  Slowly, wanting more contact, but uncertain whether he could start it, he brought his hands up to settle at her waist.  When she smiled, he tightened his grip; holding her there, holding himself together.

“You won’t get tired of this?  Of… a broken elf you have to coax into your bed?”

She laughed softly, and bumped her nose against his.  “I’ve been hoping you coax you into my bed for quite a long time, Fen.  If course I won’t get tired of this. I want you to be happy - willing, and comfortable, and so completely happy - when you get there.”

He opened his mouth to object, to doubt, to point out all the ways he might disappoint her before they ever got that far.  She set one finger lightly against his lips, stopping him before he started.

“It doesn’t matter.  How long it takes, how patient we must be with each other - yes, both of us: I doubt this is the only mistake I’ll make - how difficult the road may be.  You’re worth it, Fenris. Worth whatever effort it takes.”

He didn’t have an answer for that.  He wanted to argue, but knew she wouldn’t listen.  Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on her words and her touch.  He didn’t want to leave, but his hopes for the night were clearly not going to be fulfilled; he didn’t know what to do now.

“Would you like to stay here tonight, Fen?”

He looked at her sharply, remembering the other time she had made a similar offer.  He remembered the suspicion he’d had even then: that she hadn’t slept the entire night, guarding his sleep against the nightmares that always came.   _ I am not a slave _ , he reminded himself, and so dared to answer, “Yes, but only if you will sleep as well.”

She smiled, not at all ashamed to have been caught sacrificing her own comfort for that of a slave.  “Deal. Sealed with a kiss.” They were standing so close that she might have kissed him and been done with it before he blinked.  She didn’t, though, true to her promise; she waited until he drew a deep breath and nodded, then kissed him softly. 

A short kiss, but surprisingly pleasant when he managed to keep his thoughts in the present.  He stood by the door, considering this with more hope than he’d felt in recent memory, while she slipped away.  He watched as she turned back the covers on the bed and placed pillows for both of them; she banked the fire, and slipped behind the decorative screen in one corner of the room to change into a simple nightgown.  He was still standing beside the door when she climbed into the bed and raised her eyebrows at him.

“You have forgotten the lamp on the balcony.”

She shook her head.  “I didn’t forget. It has plenty of oil to last the night.”

“It is wasteful.  I am here.”

Ashara patted the bed beside her, clearly refusing to answer until he had joined her.  She slide down until she was laying on her side, facing him, the fireplace at her back.  He could barely make out her expression in the shifting shadows, but knew she was waiting for him to settle.  Fenris climbed under the covers, welcoming the weight of them against the chill in the air; he would be spoiled for his own room after sleeping in hers.  

He shifted around for a bit, trying to find a position where he could be comfortable and touching her at the same time.  She finally solved his problem by curling around his back, one arm draped over his waist and her forehead pressed against the back of his neck.  She hugged him tightly, and he relaxed.

He had almost forgotten the lamp on the balcony until she yawned and said, “I don’t just light it so you’ll come here.  I light it because I want you here.”

Fenris stared out the window of the balcony, watching the flickering of that lamp and thinking about her words as he listened to her breathing even out as she fell asleep.  Setting his hand over hers where it rested on his chest, he laced his fingers between hers, and closed his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the rating, please.

Just like the last time he had spent a night in her bed - and no other time that he could remember - Fenris slept through the night without nightmares.  He woke early; Ashara was still asleep behind him, but her hold had loosened enough that he could slip out of the bed without disturbing her. He needed time to think about last night, before facing her.

He spent the whole day thinking, and as night fell, was no closer to an answer than he had been at dawn.  Even if he didn’t worry about her likely reactions - and he still didn’t see how she could want him after what had happened last night - even setting that aside, he had a problem.  

He could picture her in the throes of passion easily enough; picture her eyes sparkling at him, her mouth open in a gasp, could picture her in half a dozen different positions, with a lazy smile on her lips and invitation in her eyes.  Those images left him frustrated and aroused; by midday, he found himself laying back on his dusty bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, as those images ran through his mind. He gasped when his climax took him, feeling relieved and faintly guilty at the same time.  These were the thoughts he had indulged in for days now, trying to find the courage to speak to her.

No, the problem arose when he tried to imagine himself with her.  When she alone occupied his mind, things were fine. Picturing her hands running along his tattooed torso, cupping his growing hardness… his erection fled.  Too deliberate, too much like the only other times he had been touched in that manner. When he imagined his own hands on her, all his old training coming into play as he tried to bring her pleasure, he was cold.  He hadn’t thought to include himself in his imaginings until last night. The change killed his desire.

He wanted her, but he couldn’t be with her.  By the time he had chased these thoughts around his head all day, he was in a foul mood.  He might have stayed home, except that he happened to glance out his window, and saw her on the balcony, sitting at small table in a pool of light that stood out against the gathering dark.  He went.

She saw him crossing the square, smiled and waved at him, and by the time he reached her room, she was sitting in front of the fire, waiting for him.  He went and sat in his usual place, sighing heavily as he leaned back against the chair. Her fingers in his hair were gentle, a gift he hadn’t expected to receive tonight.

She was silent for a long time, letting him settle in.  As she felt him relax fully, the gentle glide of her fingers slowed.

“Fen, we should talk.”

He nodded, a sudden lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything.

“I want to know if you still feel the same way you did last night.  If you still... “ her voice faltered slightly, “... want me. My answer is the same, but if yours has changed I’ll understand.”

Fenris nodded immediately, then shook his head.  She laughed softly, letting her fingers brush against the back of his neck.

“I think I’m going to need a bit more to go on than that.”

Fenris sighed.  “I do still want you, but… I am uncertain if I will be able to follow through on that desire.”  She was silent, her fingers moving slowly through his hair. He took a deep breath, and explained the problem he’d been having throughout the day.

She was silent for a long time, and he stared into the fire, trying to predict her response.  

“You’re worried about my touch, and touching me - and, well, enjoying it?”  

When she spoke, her words came slowly, hesitantly, and not sounding at all like herself; he couldn’t understand what had caused the change, so he tipped his head back to look at her, hoping to read something in her expression.  Her face was bright red, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her gaze shifting rapidly around the room but never coming near his face. She was _embarrassed_.  

Fenris felt his eyes widen, realizing for the first time that he might not be the only person in this room to find this conversation uncomfortable.  He straightened, turning his own eyes back to the fire. After a moment, her fingers started moving through his hair again, and he shook his head carefully.

“I crave your touch, that is not the concern.”  Her fingers tightened briefly in his hair at that admission.  He continued. “I worry about you touching me in passion, that I will recall when I was last touched that way.  I worry about trying to perform acts that have only brought pain and hatred before now, and hoping they will somehow bring pleasure.  I fear my own reactions, without the discipline they have always been subject to.”

She hummed thoughtfully; then: “Do you trust me, Fenris?”

“I do.”

“Then shall we try?  Slowly, in steps, and we can stop whenever you like.”

He considered that, rolling the word thoughtfully over his tongue.  “Try? What will be the consequence for failure?”

“No consequence.  No failure. Just… not yet, or not that, or not so fast.  If this is what you want, we _can_ get there.  I have an idea of how this might be managed, but I want to be sure it is what you want.”

He thought about that, sitting silently and staring at the fire.  Finally, he nodded.

  


Her idea involved nothing but talking that first night.  Laying out the plan, and his part in it. Actually, it involved quite a lot of rules; he had thought he would hate that, but slowly he began to see how the structure would help.  How the expectation - never changing, never guessing - would be a comfort.

She made him pick words, three of them, one each for _stop_ , _wait,_ and _keep going._  He was to answer honestly when she asked him which word he felt at that moment.  She said she would use the same words, if he ever wanted to ask her for them.

Each night would follow the same pattern, until they reached their goal - the path they walked was of her choosing, but the destination was his.  

She repeated one thing over and over, until he rolled his eyes at the repetition.   _Truth, always truth.  No assumptions, no hiding.  Truth. Asked for or not. Always truth between us.  Both ways._

She asked him to stay the night, but he was feeling restless and aroused, and wanted to be alone.  She looked straight at him when she gave him the choice, and he rolled his eyes, but answered her with all the honesty she asked for.  She blushed, but smiled at him. He could see how this truth thing might be entertaining - he had never seen her blush so easily or often as she had during this conversation.

She leaned forward then, eyes on his as her hand settled on shoulder and her fingers curled around the back of his neck.  She let her forehead rest on his.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris scowled at the fire.  He had been anticipating this all day, thinking about what might happen, what she might say or do on their first night in this new dance.  And all she wanted to do was touch him. Hands and lips, she said, but nothing below his shoulders. It was insulting, she had already touched more of him than that, it was a step backwards; he told her so.  There was a smile in her voice when she answered him.

“Everything starts somewhere.”

Fenris snorted his annoyance, but when she asked him if he was willing to try, he agreed.  She reminded him gently of his responsibility, and he sighed, but answered her.

“Don’t loom over me, don’t make me kneel.”

She nodded, accepting these boundaries without hesitation.  Then she stood, offering him her hand. When he rose to his feet as well, she drew him over to the sofa which sat across from her chair.  She had often invited him to sit there before, but he preferred to be closer to her, and never had tried it.

Now, she dragged a footstool over in front of it, and sat there, motioning Fenris to sit on the sofa in front of her.  He did, and she settled her legs to either side of his. Then, she set her hands on his shoulders, fingers curling around the back of his neck.  The touch was steadying, and when she arched an eyebrow at him in question, Fenris nodded his permission to begin.

She kept her hands still, but her fingers brushed over his neck in little patterns that he couldn’t keep track of.  Her eyes moved constantly, studying his face, watching his reactions. It was an unexpected intimacy, having her look at him with her entire attention, close enough that his gaze was on her face in return; Fenris swallowed nervously.  

Her eyebrow went up and she caught his eyes in a silent question; when he nodded for her to continue, she did.

Her hands slid up his neck to frame his face, fingers settling into new positions there.  Her index fingers, rough with callouses from her daggers, settled just in front of his ears, making him suddenly aware of the tiny pulse point there, pounding at her touch.  Her other fingers came to rest behind his ears, not touching, her thumbs along his jaw. She brushed her thumbs along his jaw several times, from his chin and back along his jaw, and returning, before running them over his lips, and along his cheek bones.  The brush of her fingers across his lips had his jaw clenching, the muscles bunching beneath her fingers, and she caught his eyes.

“Fenris?  What’s your color?”  Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper in the slight space between them.

“Blue,” he answered her rather grimly, as if determined to make it true, rather than actually believing it to be so.  Blue like her eyes, blue for _keep going_.  He was worried she would stop, despite his assurance, but she nodded, and kept going.

She continued her gentle exploration of his face, smiling as she brushed her fingertips over his eyebrows and they immediately pulled down into a scowl.  She brushed her fingers over his lips several more times in passing, and each time it was less jarring.

She ran her fingers through his hair, the sensation both familiar and unexpected from this angle.  She ran her fingers lightly along his ears, sweeping up to the delicate point, then a long slow glide down the back.  Fenris shuddered, and brought his hands to her arms.

“Come closer?  I would… like to feel more of you than this.”

She nodded, slipping off the footstool to sit on his lap, her knees tucked up against his hips, leaving a careful distance between their bodies.  He brought his hands to her hips, holding her there; he felt better holding her there - anchoring himself with her presence, anchoring her with his grip - he knew she wouldn’t leave.

He was disappointed when she left off touching his ears, but he was starting to find the gentle sweeps of her fingers soothing, so he didn’t complain.

When she had finished tracing his features, she brought her hands back to his shoulders, and Fenris leaned back against the high back of the sofa, wondering slightly at how relaxed he felt.  It wasn’t exactly a step towards his goal, but he couldn’t find any annoyance about that just now.

“Ready for more?”  Her words made him blink, he hadn’t realized his eyes had closed; he nodded.  “Color?”

“Blue.”  This time, his tone was bored, he didn’t see the point in this repeated question.

Slowly, Ashara leaned forward, and placed her lips at the point of his jaw, her nose brushing his earlobe.  His hands tightened on her hips, but he held himself still, and found that he didn’t actually mind this. She wasn’t licking - or biting - and he had known what to expect this time.  

He felt her placing soft kisses along his jaw, and knew she was following the same path her fingers had taken earlier.  There was comfort in knowing what to expect, and in there being no expectations about his own reactions - she couldn’t possibly expect this to arouse him, and so when he inevitably failed to respond there would be no embarrassment and no accusations.  He was still sure he wouldn’t be able to respond to her passionate touches in kind, but this was nice enough.

Her lips across his eyelids tickled, so much that he wasn’t able to repeat the scowl that had accompanied her fingers across his eyebrows.  She kissed down the line of his nose with a soft chuckle; Fenris refused to open his eyes, knowing her expression would call an answering smile from him.

She kissed lightly along his lips, getting a slight smile in response.  Slowly, she brought her lips across his cheek, and pushed her fingers into his hair; then started a soft trail of kisses along his right ear.  

Fenris’ hands clutched at her hips, fingers pressing tightly enough to bruise.  She removed her lips from his ear, leaning back enough that she could catch his eyes.  She slid her own hands along his arms, and over his hands, brushing her fingers along his until he relaxed his grip.  Smiling, she patted his hands, and went back to the delicate attentions of her lips on his ears.

When she had paid this thorough attention to both, she settled her hands on his shoulders and leaned her forehead against his.

“Still ok?”

“I am.  I apologize for hurting you.”

“It’s fine.”

“It is not.  I did not mean to -”

She interrupted him before he could get any further.  “Fenris, it’s fine. Blue, ok?”

He rolled his eyes, but accepted this answer.   _Always truth between us_ she had said; there would be no polite lies.  If she said it was fine, it was. Fenris nodded.

He caught her a flash of smile, more felt than seen at this range, before she brought her lips back to the corner of his jaw.  Her voice was quiet.

“Ready for more?”  He couldn’t imagine what more she meant, but he nodded.  Nothing horrible had happened so far, after all. The next question was expected.  “Color?”

“Blue.”  His tone was exasperated this time.  He couldn’t forget that this was a step backward, and pleasant was it was, it wasn’t exactly useful.  Still, he had to hope she would see that they could move more quickly next time.

A soft chuckle was his only warning, before she started a new trail of kisses along his jaw; and these were not so chaste as the last ones.  She followed the same slow path, but with light licks and gentle nibbles. Too slow, too gentle, to raise any memories, which was a relief; but not really stimulating at all, he thought with some disappointment.  

Before he could focus too much on that disappointment - or worry about what reaction she was expecting - she kissed down his nose, giving the tip a lightly playful nip - and he realized what was coming next.

His entire body went taut with sudden anticipation.  Her lips - like _this_ \- on his ears.  He couldn’t keep his hands from clenching on her hips again, so he ran them up her back instead; up and down, again and again, restless movement as he waited an eternity until her lips found his earlobe.

The first touch was a disappointment, a most unwanted return to those first chaste kisses.  

He shuddered when she spoke quietly, her breath warm against his ear, “More?”  He nodded tightly, torn between an emphatic agreement that would prevent doubts or delay, and a vast unwillingness to move away from her mouth.  She had one more question, though, and he should have seen it coming. “Color?”

“Blue!”  His voice cracked as he said it.  It was the most enthusiastic answer he’d given all night, and her throaty chuckle would have been something to savor if he hadn’t been so focused on what she was about to do.

She didn’t keep him waiting.  Lips and tongue traced the front edge of his ear, lingering at the tip until he whined deep in his throat.  Her breath ghosted across the delicate skin, followed by the long anticipated sweep of her tongue.

When she paused to push his hair out of the way, Fenris let his head fall back against the sofa, granting her better access.  She shifted slightly to follow him, catching his earlobe between gentle teeth. When she sucked lightly on it, his hands tightened on her hips and pulled her forward until her hips were flush against his.  Her soft moan was loud in his ear.

She gently nudged his head around so she could pay attention to his left ear, and the renewal of sensations took his breath away.  Turning, he caught her lips with his own, kissing her hungrily. She shifted slightly against him, and he felt a flare of desire. His hands on her hips were instinctively sliding her along his cock before he realized that he was solidly erect and straining against his breeches.

She had taken her lips back to his ear, closing them around the tip, when he went suddenly still.  She stopped immediately but didn’t pull away, her voice quiet and even, with her lips close to his ear but not touching.  

“Fenris?”

His voice was anything but even, straining with desire and broken by gasps.  “I… ‘Shara, I…” He couldn’t force the words out, so he just pulled her firmly against his erection, and let her figure it out for herself.

She let him rock her hips against his, and gave a soft hum of pleasure.  She caught the tip of his ear in her teeth and bit gently. Fenris gasped, pulled her harder against him, as he realized how close he was.  He tried again to warn her.

“Shara…”  His voice spiraled up on a gasp as she first licked, then blew gently against the tip of his ear.

He hadn’t been about to ask her any question at all, and certainly not the one she answered.

“Blue, Fenris.”  She moaned as he rocked her against him again.  “Blue.”

Blue.  Blue like her eyes.  Blue for _keep going_.  

She couldn’t know what she was offering him.  His training whispered through his mind: never first, never without providing pleasure, never as anything more than a necessity following an adequate performance, never without providing a show - never deserving his own pleasure.  

But she had said there would only be truth between them - and she had said blue.  Blue for _keep going_.

He did.

Fenris rocked her frantically against his cock, he didn’t even spare a thought to wish that there was less fabric between them.  When she would have returned her lips to his ears, he turned his head and caught her mouth in a kiss. It was a demanding kiss, deep and rough; she brought her hands to his face, brushing her fingers lightly along his cheekbones, gentling the kiss until he could feel something more than crushing pressure.  He could feel her desire, her care for him, in the touch of her lips against his. It pushed him over the edge.

He came with his mouth pressed against hers, muffling the sounds of his pleasure with her lips.  

He closed his eyes when she lifted her lips from his, but she didn’t leave as he had feared.  She settled down with her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers drifting down to trace idle patterns across the back of his neck.  The touch was soothing, as always, and he relaxed slightly.

He should say something, shouldn’t he?  He had no experience like this, nothing to tell him what should happen next.  Still, he felt like he should say something.

“Well.  That was… more interesting than anticipated.”

She sat up suddenly, wide eyes meeting his.  “More interesting? Than _anticipated_?!”  He thought for a moment that she was angry, but with her next breath she dissolved into giggles.  She continued giggling until she had to gasp for breath, occasionally repeating “interesting” and “anticipated;” she kept giggling until his embarrassment fled, and he started to be annoyed.

“It isn’t that funny, Hawke.”  His voice returning to his usual disapproving tones.  She grinned at him, unrepentant. “I do not have any experience with this, I do not know what to do… now.”

Ashara kissed him lightly.  Her humor was gone, but she was still smiling at him.  “Now, you go clean up. Then you stay the night. In the morning, we have a job.”

She slid off his lap, ignoring his blush, so he could rise and go into the adjoining bathroom.  His doubts returned as he washed and changed; by the time he returned to the bedroom, he was nervous.  What must she think of him? He was all too certain he knew.

He had doubted her, had been surly when she asked for something simple - he had thought she was being condescending, mocking him.  He had responded despite his doubts, and been entirely selfish.

Ashara was already changed and lounging against a pile of pillows in the bed.  When he approached hesitantly, she caught his hand and dragged him in beside her.  He slid his arms around her waist, pillowed his head on her stomach, and held her tightly.

She brought a hand up, and slid her fingers through his hair.  

“Fen?”

He knew what she was asking, knew she had felt him shaking as he curled tightly against her.  But he didn’t know how to answer her, so he was silent.

She sighed, and leaned down to press her lips against the top of his head.

“This was only the first step, Fen.  I don’t expect that we’re magically at the end of our journey.  There’s still a long way to go. Sometimes forwards, sometimes backwards.”

He relaxed sightly, but didn’t loosen his hold on her.  Her fingers felt good sliding through his hair.

“You are wonderful, you know that?  You were honest when I asked, and you asked for what you wanted.  You did so well. And you trusted me, which means so much to me. You were patient with me, even at first when you didn’t think I was doing what you had asked.  And Fen, you trusted me when I said we were ok, and to keep going. Thank you for that.”

He had stopped shaking as he listened to her, as the evening reordered itself in his mind, and he saw it as she had.  Her quiet words continued, praising him, showing him a man he had never suspected existed, telling him how amazing she found him.  He sighed, letting the last of the tension drain from him. Slowly, as she recounted everything he had done well, he found he was able to regain his own pleasure in the evening, and his surprising reaction to her touch.

That she didn’t expect an that reaction to be repeated without fail was a relief; he found that, far from thinking it a fluke, as he had been inclined to do in the darkness of his own doubts, he could see it as a success to be sought again.

Her fingers slid gently through his hair, and her voice, quietly telling him how wonderful he was, followed him into sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Leandra walked smoothly through the front hall of her family’s estate, pausing to exchange a few quiet words with Bodahn before she retired for the night.  Their conversation, held in soft, decorous tones, was interrupted by raised voices issuing from the library. Leandra sighed.

“Again?  What are they arguing about this time, Bodahn?”

Bodahn’s voice held an amused note as he answered.  “I believe Messere Fenris objected to how much time Serah Hawke has been spending helping with the clinic in Darktown.”

“Oh dear.”  Leandra winced as a particularly loud shriek from her daughter clearly penetrated the closed oak door.  She gave Bodahn a slightly pained smile. “Her father was the same way - always arguing at the top of his lungs.  I tried to counter his influence, but…” 

Before she could continue, the library door was flung open to crash against the wall.  Leandra and Bodahn both winced at that. 

Fenris stalked through the door, turning back to shout at Hawke,  “If you refuse to limit your interactions with the Abomination, then perhaps I shall solve the problem myself with a tip to the Templars!”

“Don’t you  _ dare!”  _ Hawke’s voice, raised to a shrill shout, wasn’t the only thing to follow Fenris out the door.  A small glass bottle arced through the air to land at his feet, immediately releasing a cloud of thick grey smoke.  Any further argument from Fenris dissolved into coughs punctuated with the occasional curse.

Hawke, wearing a satisfied smirk, appeared.  She leaned casually against the door frame with her arms folded over her chest, and waited for the smoke to dissipate.  It did so quickly, leaving no trace in the air. As Fenris’ form slowly became more clear, Leandra braced herself for more shouting.

It didn’t come.

Fenris scowled at Hawke, who merely grinned at him, satisfied that she had won this round.  Finally, he snorted.

“Are we finished?  Or shall we go out back and spar a bit?  We can’t keep shouting in here, Mother will have my head.”

Leandra gave her own, most unladylike, snort at that last claim, and Hawke smiled at her.  Fenris glanced over his shoulder, noticing their audience for the first time. He blushed, but gave Leandra a shallow bow before turning back to Hawke. 

“We are finished.  For now.”

“Good enough.”  

She smiled at him.  It was no longer a surprise to Leandra that he immediately smiled back, and turned to climb the stairs to her daughter’s room.  No noise had ever issued from that room - unlike the shouting which had lately filled every other room of the house when Fenris came to visit - and Leandra had convinced herself that she did not need to know what happened there.

As soon as Fenris’ back was turned, Hawke let her head fall back against the door; she drew a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh, then raised her head to smile at her mother.  She crossed the room and kissed Leandra lightly on the cheek.

“Good night, Mother.  Sorry about the smoke.”  Then she hurried up the stairs, catching up with Fenris before they reached the top floor, and twined her fingers through his.

Leandra shook her head, smiling despite herself at her daughter’s antics.  Bodahn was chuckling openly.

“Never a dull moment, Messere.”

“No indeed.  But this is getting to be quite a regular thing; I wish I understood it.”

Bodahn shrugged.  “I don’t understand it myself, but they don’t seem hurt by it, so I suspect everything will work out in the end.”

Leandra nodded.  “Well, I’ll bid you goodnight, Bodahn.  You’ll make sure to lock up, won’t you?”

“I will, Messere.  Have a good night.”

 

* * *

 

In her room, Hawke threw herself onto her sofa, laying on her back and stretching her arms above her head.  She rolled her shoulders and arched her back before sitting up and looking at Fenris with one eyebrow raised.

He scowled.  Several weeks had passed since he and Hawke had started what he thought of as a well choreographed dance towards her bed.  Even he had to admit that their progress toward that goal had been steady. Slow, but steady.

When she had asked for his patience, he had assumed it was merely a polite nothing.  She would need to be patient with him - they both knew that - and by asking him to extend patience to her, she glossed over the one-sided nature of the endeavor.  He had been wrong.

When she asked for his patience, she had meant it - meant him to be patient with a pace that he thought was too slow and too careful.  Patience had never really been his strength, and she had quickly worn out what little he did possess. Left to his own devices, Fenris would have approached the obstacles to their love making with the same single minded focus he brought to everything - battering mind and body against the obstacle until he had overcome it, then moving on to the next, with never a thought spent on the damage he might be doing himself.

She wouldn’t allow that.

No, Ashara’s plan was to walk them slowly towards his goal - sometimes treading new ground sometimes retracing previous steps - stepping carefully up to those obstacles in his mind, dancing around them, sliding over, or around, or beneath them… in short, she took a rogue’s approach to the thing, all sneaky approaches and subtle counters.  He had never been so frustrated before in his life.

He was well practiced at not getting what he wanted, at persevering and moving on.  There had been a time, not too long ago, when the more he wanted something, the more patient he could be about waiting for it, never giving a hint of what he felt.  Now, though, he  _ wanted _ and there were no bounds to keep his impatience in check.  No orders, no expectations. Nothing to keep him from dwelling on what he wanted and didn’t have.  He had no experience with the sort of self restraint that came entirely from within himself - his restraint had always been imposed on him from without.  It left him feeling unbalanced and out of control, and his mood soured as his frustration grew.

Leandra wasn’t the only one to wonder at the frequent shouting matches that had suddenly started between him and Hawke; their whole group had noticed, and he had been treated to several black looks when he picked at her.  He didn’t know any other outlet for his frustration, though; she had caused it, and she could deal with the consequences. Fenris scowled back at them all.

Hawke didn’t seem to mind his newly shorted temper.  Or at least, she never held a grudge. She was more than willing to meet him, her own voice waspish or shrill by turns.  When she could be drawn into a public argument, the reactions from their friends were varied. Aveline frowned disapprovingly at both of them; Merrill tried helplessly to distract them; Anders glowered only at Fenris; and Varric and Isabela always ended up snickering, clearly seeing more than the others did.

The framework of their evenings together helped anchor him; having her to himself - and the intense focus she brought to bear on every detail of these evenings - soothed his frustration.  It wasn’t enough, though - and to make matters worse, she insisted that they not spend every night in her rooms. They must maintain their friendships, must spend time with the others - both alone and together.  Fenris had been more than willing to ignore their friends, and the rest of the world for that matter, in favor of the nights spent with her in her rooms. But she was adamant, and set the example by keeping her own engagements.

The latest of these had been helping Anders in his clinic, and the thought of the Abomination having so much of her time - and remembering the longing looks and sighs that frequently escaped him - had Fenris’ temper at a boil.  

When he had arrived this evening, she had been stretched out on the sofa in her room, fast asleep.  He had been reluctant to wake her, then he had been suddenly furious that they should miss out on one of their evenings together simply because she had worn herself out helping Anders.  

He sat on the end of the sofa and shook her more roughly than he intended.  Her eyes opened, wide with surprise and confused with interrupted sleep, but she smiled when she saw him - an evident delight in his presence that made his heart skip, and almost drove his anger away.  Then she stretched and winced at a sore muscle, and the anger came roaring back.

She had taken in his darkening expression, and silently led the way to the library.  She refused to have arguments in the bedroom. Now they were back where they had started, her pose on the sofa a clear invitation to start the evening again, but he wasn’t sure what to do.

She let the silence grow until he was fidgeting nervously in front of the fireplace, then she stood and went to him.  Her fingers were cool and gentle against the back of his neck.

“I cannot help how others may feel about me; I can only choose how I act, and be honest about my own feelings.  For me, there is only you. There has only been you since Tevinter. There will only ever be you.”

Fenris shivered at her words, and told himself it was just the coolness of her fingers on his skin that caused it.  He had never been as good at telling her what he felt as she was, but that sort of declaration deserved a response. Turning, he set his hands on her waist, and leaned forward to kiss her.  This was progress, all unnoticed until now, that he could touch her - kiss her - on a whim. No preparation, no invitation, nothing to guide his actions and keep his thoughts in line. 

Just his desire, expressed.  

Fenris was smiling when he lifted his lips from hers, and found an answering smile on her face.

 

* * *

What had started out as a simple task for Aveline had turned into something so much more.  As the last survivor begged for his life, Fenris felt rage surging through him. He snapped the man’s neck without a thought, and turned as Hawke, Varric, and Anders came up to him. 

“Hadriana.”  He hissed the name with such venom that even Hawke’s eyebrow went up.  “I was a fool to think I was free. They will never let me be!”

He saw Hawke reaching for him; whether she wanted to offer comfort or sympathy, he didn’t know.  He jerked away from her, fury speeding his steps towards the caves.

“We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare.  Or flee.”

Anders looked like her wanted to object, but Hawke waved him to silence, and followed Fenris.   
  


Rage clouded Fenris’ mind.  He could barely think past it, as he fought his way through the caves, vaguely aware of Hawke matching him step for step, of Varric shushing Ander’s complaints.  And then, Hadriana was at his feet.

In that part of his mind which whispered constantly “I am not a slave,” he knew that keeping his promise was the right thing to do.  But the fury drowned it out; his markings lit and his hand was clenched around Hadriana’s heart before his thoughts had caught up with him.  She was dead, and for a moment, it felt glorious.

He turned to see the shocked look on Anders’ face, the faintly surprised look on Varric’s.  And on Hawke’s, when he summoned the courage to face her… the same serenity she always held, the steady acceptance he had taken for granted.  Those couldn’t last, not in the face of what he had just done. Despair, hatred of himself, was overwhelming his fury.

Fiercely defiant, he defended what he knew was an indefensible act - killing Hadriana had been satisfying, but it said far more about him than it did about her.  He was the one who had promised a helpless woman her life, and then gone back on the promise. But yelling at Hawke was safe, and it kept the despair at bay, so he yelled

She stood steady in the face of his anger, and then she touched him.  He hadn’t expected that - had rather thought that she would never want to touch him again, but here she was, comforting him when he least deserved it.  He moved away from her, shrugging her hand away roughly, and earning himself a glare from Varric. 

The despair was winning.  “What does magic touch that it doesn’t spoil?”  

He turned and ran from the caves, leaving confusion in his wake.  It was easy to ignore Anders’ insulted protest; it was far harder to ignore the words Hawke sent after him.

“You aren’t spoiled, Fenris.”  

Her voice echoed in his mind, repeating endlessly in time with his steps.


	16. Chapter 16

Hawke refused to let herself hustle Anders and Varric back to Kirkwall.  She wanted nothing more than to run after Fenris, but he clearly needed some space; she knew he would come find her when he was ready, and forcing the point wouldn’t help.  So, she walked back with Varric and Anders, pretending nothing was wrong. Varric went along with her random conversation, allowing the pretense with a pointed look that said more than all Anders’ attempts to force the subject.  Finally, she left them both at the the entrance to the city and made her way home.

She had gotten cleaned up and changed, had settled Orana in her new room, and was introducing her to Bodahn and Sandal, when she heard the door chime.  She let Bodahn answer it, hovering in the doorway to listen.

“Messere Fenris, welcome.  Come in. You’re here to see Serah Hawke, of course?  She’s just helping Orana get settled, and will be done shortly.  Where would you like to wait for her?”

Hawke smiled to herself - Bodahn had been quick to pick up on the boundaries she had set with Fenris.  The library was for arguing, the bedroom for more quiet conversations. She wondered what state Fenris had been in when Bodahn answered the door, that the dwarf had to ask - he could usually tell with a single glance, and ushered Fenris to the appropriate room.

“I will wait here, if you don’t mind.  If Hawke is … too busy to see me, I will leave.”  His tone was all wrong, stiff and stilted, and Hawke scowled to herself.

“Of course, Messere.  I’ll tell her you’re here.”

Hawke withdrew to the kitchen before Bodahn came bustling in, looking concerned.

“Messere Fenris is here, and he seems upset.”

She nodded.  “Yes, I expected he would be.  Would you please make sure Orana gets something to eat, and see about some clothes and things for her in the morning?”  She waited for his nod, before leaving. She could see that he was worried for her, though, so she smiled and patted his shoulder as she passed him.  “It will be fine, Bodahn.”

In the short hallway, she paused and drew a deep breath.  It would be fine, but it might get tense first.

  
  


Sure enough, when she walked into the foyer, Fenris was sitting nervously on the bench, staring at the fire.  He was fidgeting, and not paying any attention to her silent approach. Hawke walked over and sat beside him; he jumped slightly and looked at her as if he didn’t believe she was there.  She just watched him quietly, waiting.

“I have been thinking about what happened.  I … took my anger out on you.” He glanced at her, wondering if she would save him from this moment.  She was watching him steadily, but remained silent. Awkwardly, he added, “Undeservedly so. I am sorry.”

She smiled at the apology, and reached out to run her fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face.  “I was worried about you.”

“I needed to be alone.  I thought you would hate me, for not keeping my word.  I let my hatred for her and Danarius control me. I wanted to let her live.  Wanted to be like you. But I couldn’t.”

She slid off the bench, kneeling in front of him so she could look up and catch his eyes.  “I don’t hate you, Fen. And to be honest, I would not have let her live, either. I appreciate that you wanted to keep your word.  That sort of control over your emotions is learned, Fenris, not something anyone just knows. Most people don’t even try to learn it; I’m so proud of you for trying, and that isn’t diminished at all by the result.  You tried, and that’s what matters now.”

Fenris stared at her, suddenly at a loss for words.  He had prepared what he would say if she asked him to leave - had expected it, and would have accepted her request.  She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t still see any potential value in him after what had happened in the caves. He should have known better.  This was Hawke - Ashara - who always saw value in him. She always understood what he couldn’t put into words; always put him first.

He’d been silent for so long, that she reached up and touched his cheek lightly, to draw his attention back to her.  His eyes focused on her suddenly, and his markings lit. He wanted her, wanted  _ her _ with no reservations and no concerns.  Fenris captured her face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss her.  

He tried to use the gentleness she’d been showing him in the last weeks, but he couldn’t hold onto it for long; his lips were soon hot and demanding on hers.  He kissed her with an urgency which she quickly picked up on, and for a moment, she shared it, returning his kiss with equal urgency and desire. Exulting in that clear sign of her acceptance, Fenris stood, his hands on her face urging her to her feet as well.  She wound her arms around his waist and leaned into him.

When she pulled back slightly, they were both breathing heavily.  Her fingers fidgeted with the armor at the small of his back, a loss of control that pleased him to no end, until she spoke.

“Fenris, we shouldn’t rush into this.  We need to slow down.”

“I don’t want to slow down, Hawke.  I want you. Tell me if you don’t want me, and I will leave.”  

She winced at his use of her surname, knowing it meant he was running on passion and anger.  A small voice tried to urge her to stop, to think about this calmly, to slow down. She was running on emotions, too, though, and she had wanted him - had  _ loved _ him - for so long.  The voice was easily silenced.

She was shaking her head as she kissed him, her response almost lost against his lips.   “Don’t go, Fen. Come upstairs.” 

  
  


Fenris let the tide of emotion and instinct carry him along.  He was thoughtful and demanding by turns, relishing each reaction he coaxed from her.  Without the deliberate pace of Ashara’s planned evenings, he couldn’t force himself to go slowly and savor.  He hadn’t even noticed how little response his markings had to their usual activities; he hadn’t noticed how her gentleness and patience, his lack of urgency, had prevented the pain and flares he remembered from before.  His markings lit as soon as he entered her; the flare of pain froze him in place, and the horror of what she would think almost ruined the night altogether. If she hadn’t encouraged him to keep going, he might have stopped everything right then.

She did encourage him, though, running her hands up and down his back as if she hadn’t noticed the change, her eyes still finding on his whenever he leaned back far enough that she could manage it.  Somehow, he managed to ignore the blue glow reflecting in her eyes; ignoring the pain was something he was more familiar with. When she whispered his name, he started moving

It was over rather quickly, but she was smiling at him, and whispering quiet nonsense in his ear as he collapsed atop her, so he decided not to worry about it.  He was smiling as he moved to lay beside her. Ashara curled against him, her head on his shoulder and one hand on his chest where she could feel his heart beating steadily.  They could always try again, after all, he decided, and let sleep take him with a smile.

 

 

_ A flash of red hair, and laughing eyes.  Black hair, and older green eyes dark with concern.  A feeling of excitement mixed with sorrow and determination.  A slender girl sticking her tongue out at him, then turning to run away.  Gentle hands on his forehead, gentle arms closing him in a hug.  _

_ Two voices: one young and nervous, the other older and concerned.  Both saying the same word over and over, and growing farther away as he woke up. _

_ Leto… Leto… Leto…. _

 

 

Fenris woke with a start, and stared at the canopy above him, struggling to put warring thoughts and reactions into some sort of order.  Ashara’s bed. He was in Ashara’s bed. He turned his head slightly, and saw that she was still asleep, curled on her side and facing away from him.  He didn’t usually dream when he slept beside her, she kept his nightmares at bay.

But he hadn’t just slept beside her, and he hadn’t dreamt.  He had made love to her, for the first time. Had lost control of his markings, had fallen asleep, had remembered his life before Danarius.  It was too much. The memories twined their way through his thoughts; all he could see was the flash of red hair, tired green eyes, and rapidly fading voices saying… something.  The memories were slipping out of his reach again. 

He tried to focus on Ashara, tried to remember what they had shared, or what she had said to him before he fell asleep.  But all he could see was the memory of her face bathed in the faint, unnatural blue light of his markings as he lost control of them, and tainted their lovemaking with the filth of his past.  Disgusted with himself, Fenris shoved himself off the bed and quickly got dressed. He would leave before he had to face her.

He had forgotten that she slept lightly.  She woke before he could escape.

Her first thought was - of course - concern for him.  Concern he didn’t deserve. He couldn’t keep the despair out of his voice, as she sat quietly listening to him.  He didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve this. 

“I began to remember my life before.  Just flashes. It’s too much, this is too fast - I cannot do this!”  He was taking short, gasping breaths by the time he finished. 

Ashara stood, and walked over to him, her hand gentle on his shoulder.  The touch was calming, and he was able to catch his breath. With calm came memory - she had warned him that they were moving too fast, that they needed to slow down.  He didn’t want her to remind him of this, so he hurried on, overriding whatever she had started to say before she got the words out.

“I cannot discuss this, Hawke!  I just wanted to be happy. I was a fool!”  He jerked away from her, stomping towards the door.

“Fen, we can work this out.  Come talk to me.”

“I do not want to talk, Hawke!  Just leave me alone!”

He slammed the door open, and risked a glance over his shoulder at her.  She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him calmly. No, not calmly - the firelight reflected on a single tear as it streaked down her cheek.  He wasn’t even sure she heard his muttered, “Forgive me,” before he fled her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even in the game, I can't get Hawke pushing Fenris against a wall to make any sense for me. And certainly not here, where she knows so much more about his history. In general, I really struggled with this one - it's such an integral passage in the universe, but didn't fit nicely with my ideas. I tried to stay true to both as much as possible. Sorry for the short chapter, it was just too recalcitrant to make it longer. We're past it now though - Onward!


	17. Chapter 17

Fenris avoided Hawke for more than a month, to his own surprise; he had expected her to push the issue much sooner.  He spent most of that time trying to convince himself that he was pleased with his success.

The first few days couldn’t be counted, he knew.  She had left him alone, obviously respecting his desire for space.  After those first few days, though, she came to his mansion several times over the course of a few days.  Usually, she stood in the foyer, and raised her voice loud enough to be heard throughout the crumbling building; asking him to come talk to her - or at least give some indication that he was alive and well.  He ignored her, and didn’t stir from his room until he was sure she was gone.

Some days, when she received no response in the foyer, she would climb the grand staircase, still speaking loudly, and look for him.  On these days, it was easier for him to congratulate himself on avoiding her - it took some skill to hide from a rogue, even when she wasn’t being particularly stealthy.  He spent some time in front of his fire, downing another bottle of wine, and chuckling to himself at her stubborn failure.

He explored his way through Danarius’ cellar, relieving it of all the most expensive bottles of wine.  He rarely dared to venture out of the mansion, since he could never be sure he wouldn’t run into Hawke - and he was adamant in his own mind that he would not speak to her.  Of course, since he couldn’t look out the window to see if she was in her own home or not, he never knew if leaving would increase the risk that she might find him. Mostly, he stayed in, and didn’t regret it.  Occasionally, he paid one of the local urchins to do some shopping for him; between these provisions and the wine, he was supplied well enough with food and drink.

After those failed attempts at speaking to him, Hawke left him alone.  For awhile, he was grumpily pleased. He had won, she would leave him alone now.  The longer she was absent, though, the less pleased he became. Did he matter so little to her that she could throw him away this easily?

Shortly before a full month of this determined isolation had passed his bitter self congratulation, and angry sense of betrayal, were destroyed by Varric.  The dwarf walked into the mansion, and started yelling.

“Hey, Broody!  Time to stop sulking, and come out!”

Lurking in the shadows of the second floor, Fenris refused to answer.

“Look, Hawke’s worried about you.  She said you two had some sort of disagreement, and now you won’t talk to her.”

Fenris was relieved that she hadn’t gone into details with Varric, but he still refused to answer.

“She sent me to make sure you’re alright.  She’s worried about you in this drafty mountain of rubble.”

Fenris snorted, but it was quiet enough that Varric couldn’t hear him.  The dwarf started up the stairs, mumbling under his breath.

“Look, Elf, I don’t want to get dragged into whatever is going on between you two.  But Hawke’s worried, and a worried Hawke is a Hawke who isn’t paying attention to what she’s doing.  And that’s dangerous in our line of work.”

That actually penetrated - if Hawke wasn’t being careful, she could get seriously hurt.  He still refused to answer though. Varric had reached the top of the stairs, and turned toward the room Fenris usually occupied.  It was empty, but his distraction gave Fenris the chance to slip into one of his hiding places. He had created several in the mansion while he occupied it, against the possibility of Danarius’ return.  This one was simply a clear space within an interior wall. The wall panel was indistinguishable from the rest of the hallway - the grimey, peeling wallpaper was good camouflage - and the small spy hole he’d put in was cleverly hidden in the curl of a candle holder.  Hawke had never found him while he was hiding here, surely it would work on Varric just as well.

“So here’s the thing.  She gave me a message for you, and said I had to deliver it, one way or another.”  Varric glanced around the empty room, no doubt taking in the burning fire and half finished bottle of wine on the bench.  “So you can come talk to me and we can do this the easy way; or you can be stupidly stubborn and we can do it the hard way.”

A sliver of worry raised the hairs on the back of Fenris’ neck.   _ The hard way? _  What could he mean by that?  Varric had many underhanded options at his disposal, but how hard would he try to deliver whatever this message from Hawke was?  Shaking off the worry, Fenris stayed where he was. His hiding places had foiled  _ Hawke _ after all; Varric couldn’t succeed where she had failed.

Varric waited another few heartbeats, then sighed.  “Really, Broody, I didn’t want to do this.”

Before Fenris could worry about what that meant, Varric walked into his room, and out of his line of sight.  When the dwarf moved back into the hallway, Fenris was shocked to watch him move systematically from one hiding place to another.  He opened each, not even looking into them before moving on. He didn’t miss a single one, and he never tried a section that wasn’t hiding a secret.  The last panel he opened was the one Fenris stood behind. Varric crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Fenris simply stared.

“How did you know?”

Varric snorted.  “That’s what you’re worried about?  After everything I’ve said, this is the concern uppermost in your thoughts?”

Fenris scowled.  “I spent a lot of time on these.  I want to know how you found them so easily.”

“I’m here to deliver a message from Hawke.  Not give up trade secrets.”

“I don’t care about your message.  Tell me how you found them.”

Varric opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.  A calculating look settled over his face. “You listen to the message, then I’ll tell you.”

Warily, Fenris nodded.

“Great.  Hawke says,” Varric pitched his voice into a falsetto that sounded nothing like Hawke’s voice, “Fenris.  You can’t keep hiding there, running from a problem. If you won’t talk to me, please speak to someone else.  All your friends are worried about you. Part of being free means facing your problems, instead of hiding from them.  I’ve left the lamp lit.” He looked at Fenris expectantly.

Keeping his face carefully neutral, Fenris jerked his head in a nod.  Varric waited, but when the silence had stretched long enough to prove that this was the only response he was going to get, he threw up his hands and turned away.

“Dwarf.  You promised to tell me how you found my hiding places.”

Varric snorted in disgust, answering over his shoulder as he stomped away.  “Hawke. How else?”

Fenris couldn’t find an answer to that, and Varric left without saying another word.  Fenris wandered through the second floor of his home, closing all the opened hiding places.  Hawke. He should have known he wasn’t really hiding from her. She saw too much.

What else could she see?  She had ignored him for weeks now, was he really supposed to believe that she cared?  Even this invasion wasn’t really the same thing as care, was it? 

Fenris slammed the door to his hallway hiding spot, and retreated to his seat in front of the fire, picking up the bottle of wine along the way.  He considered the chair he usually occupied in front of the fire. All his anger was draining away, leaving despair in its wake. He sat on the floor in front of the chair, hoping to recapture some of the peace he’d found in that position before, only to realize the peace had come not from the position, but from Ashara’s presence.  He took a deep drink of the wine, and glared at the fire.

He couldn’t talk to her.  She might be worried about him, but she clearly didn’t care for him any longer.  And why should she? He had taken advantage of her, and then left in a huff. He had hidden from her.  Of course she had given up on him.  _ I’ve left the lamp lit, _ she had said.  That was exactly why he’d been avoiding his own window.  He didn’t want to see it either way. If it was no longer burning, he didn’t want the clear proof that she’d cut him completely from her life; if it was still burning, he didn’t think he could reconcile whatever crumbs of friendship she held out to him with everything that cheerful puddle of light had meant to him before.  So he had avoided his window, going so far as to hang a threadbare blanket in front of it so he couldn’t accidentally look out it.

She was right about one thing, though.  Slaves hid from problems, waiting for the blow.  Free men could face their problems, and find the help they needed.   _ Talk to someone. _  Well, she clearly didn’t want to be burdened with his issues any longer, but the advice was still sound.  He might even follow it.

Fenris took another swallow of wine, discovered it was the last, and let the bottle fall to the floor.  He couldn’t muster the energy to go look for another. Instead, he sat on the floor, and stared into the fire for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

It had taken two days for him to muster the courage to be here, and he was still hoping that an excuse to leave would present itself to him.  Before he could find one, though, a gentle voice was greeting him.

“Fenris.  It is a pleasure to see you here, my friend.”  

The gentle burr of Sebastian’s voice was soothing to his raw nerves.  Taking a deep breath, Fenris turned to face the archer.

“Sebastian.  I wondered if I might… speak to you.  In your… professional capacity. In confidence.”

Sebastian smiled, and gestured Fenris to precede him up the staircase.  “Of course. All conversations here are in confidence. Let us go where we won’t be disturbed.”  He guided Fenris to a small alcove along the upper floor of the chantry. There were several here, large enough to hold two or three people comfortably, surrounded on three sides by stone walls, and with a curtain that might be drawn across the front for additional privacy.  They were less formal - and far less intimidating - than the confessionals, Fenris noted with relief. He sat, waited while Sebastian settled himself as well, and shook his head when the chantry brother offered to draw the curtain. 

As the silence grew, Sebastian sat patiently.  Finally, it became clear that Fenris wasn’t going to start.

“We have not seen you in some time, Fenris.  We have all been concerned about you, but Hawke asked that we respect your desire for privacy.  Have we done the wrong thing?”

“No.  I wanted to be alone.  But I cannot sit in my master’s mansion forever, and I cannot face Hawke.  I do not know how you can help me. I should not have come.” Fenris slumped in his seat, picking at the fabric of the cushion he sat on.

“Perhaps you would tell me why you wanted to be alone?”

“Because I have hurt Hawke, and she has given up on me.  I knew she would, eventually. I wanted something, and I took it, and it turned to ash at my touch.  She knew it would. Everything good is ruined by my touch. She tried to stop me, but I ignored her, and now she has given up on me.”

Fenris continued on, often repeating himself; he danced around the subject of his fleeting memories, and avoided saying that he had slept with Hawke.  Sebastian listened to him quietly, never frustrated and never pushing. 

Slowly, Fenris told him everything, relaying even their last painful conversation, before ending bitterly with, “She has known exactly where I am this whole time, and she has never tried to speak with me!

Sebastian was silent and still, his eyes fixed on Fenris’ face, his hands folded peacefully in his lap.  When it became clear that Fenris was finished speaking, he nodded slightly.

“That is a difficult thing to speak of.  I thank you for trusting me with it. Tell me, do you fear having more of these visions of your past?”

Fenris considered this.  “I don’t know. They weren’t useful, and even so, they have faded quickly from my memory, like dreams do.  I saw only flashes, impressions. I do not know if I should pursue them or avoid them. But I have no way of doing either, so what is the point in asking?”

“I was wondering what sort of relationship you would want with Hawke going forward.  Do you want to continue an intimate relationship? Do you fear it because of the memories?  Or wish it because of the memories?”

“I cannot have any sort of relationship with Hawke, haven’t you been listening?  She has finally realized that everything I touch is ruined. She wants nothing to do with me now.”

Sebastian simply nodded at this.  “As an abstract exercise, then. If you could have a relationship with Hawke, what would it look like?”

“I do not see the point of this!”

“Humor me.”

Fenris sighed heavily.  “I do not fear the memories.  Neither can I return to the path Hawke and I were on.  We had many… experiences which did not provoke any memories.  I cannot be sure what the difference was. But I tried to make her do what I wanted, and I lost control of the lyrium markings.  I… these are filth, reminders of Danarius and Hadriana. That filth has no place in Ashara’s bed. In her life. I have no place there.  I wish I could be her friend again, but that is not possible.”

“So her thoughts do not matter?”

“They do.  She knows I have no place in her life.  She has not tried to speak to me in weeks.  She knows.”

“I am confused.”  Sebastian glanced at Fenris, then returned his gaze to his hands, folded lightly in his lap.  “I thought you told me that she has always been thoughtful.”

“She has!  That does not mean she hasn’t been blind.  She sees what I am. Even though she does not know the worst of it, she must have some idea of what Danarius - ”

“Wait a moment.  You are not hearing me.  You say Hawke has always been thoughtful, yes?  Has always treated you as a free man?”

Fenris tried to control his impatience.  “Yes, of course she has. You have met her - could you imagine otherwise?”

Sebastian ignored this questioned.  “Would you say she has respected your boundaries?”

“Yes.  Always.”

“Which is what she is doing now.”

“What?  Sebastian, you aren’t listening to me.  I don’t have any boundaries against her speaking to me!  That is her, seeing me for what I am. I insisted on something she thought should wait.  And when she was proven correct, I couldn’t handle it.”

“True.  And what did you say to her?”

“I told her…”  Fenris’ voice trailed off as he realized what Sebastian was getting at.  “I told her I didn’t want to talk about it. I asked her -  _ told  _ her - to leave me alone.”

“Aye.”

His heart pounding, Fenris stared at Sebastian.  “Do you really think that’s it? Would she accept me as a friend?  She’s just giving me the space I asked for?”

“Hawke is very good about not pushing people past what they find comfortable.  If you told her to leave you alone, she would. If you tell her you would like to keep your relationship friendly, with nothing physical, I think she would accept that.  She cares about you, Fenris.”

“She said she wanted to be with me.  How do I know if she is really willing to continue a friendship without a romantic relationship?”

Sebastian stood, and smiled down at him.  “Didn’t you tell me she said there would only be honesty between you?  Did you think she only meant that to be true on your side?”

As he walked away, Fenris stared after him.  She had said that, and he had always known she meant for it to apply equally between them.  

Perhaps he could ask her.


End file.
